


Hate the Player

by bruisespristine



Series: Taylor Swift Verse (College AU, no actual TSwift) [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blackmail, Canon Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Football | Soccer, M/M, Slow Burn, Sub!Shaw, kinky kinky sex, marked so you can skip it if you're not into that sort of thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 45,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Enthusiastic. Hmm.” Well, except for Shaw, she adds in her head. Shaw had barely even looked at her. But, she realises with an inner sigh, she’s not exactly dressed to impress, if she’d known she was gonna run into someone so fascinating she’d have made an effort, but coding isn’t something she usually dresses up for. Harold starts walking with a pronounced hitch in his step toward the sports building, and Root hastens after him. “Well, one beer couldn’t hurt, could it?” </p><p>Or, the one where Root meets a bunch of soccer players (and Harold, the team mom) and Zoe is team Shoot's number one fan girl. Also, Martine is the worst. More warnings by chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tiny Angry One

**Author's Note:**

> This fic definitely earns an explicit rating. It is not one of the single sex scene kinds of fics. I have done my best to mark the sex scenes so you can skip them if you're not into that sort of thing, you'll miss a little character/ relationship stuff but the plot should work.
> 
> Also! KINK WARNING- this fic is NOT a manual, please don't use it as such. Do your research, take classes if possible, be safe and communicate properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8d799e2)

The campus lab is quiet except for the soft whirring of computers and the breathing of the few students working this late on a Friday night. Leaning over her keyboard, Root grins with satisfaction as the last line of code compiles successfully and the program autosaves. She pops the usb drive out and slides it into her pocket, texting her buddy Daniel with the other hand. 

//sorted it. What should I do with the drive?//

She slides her winter coat on over her long sleeved polo neck and immediately overheats, so bustles past the remaining students hunched over their computer stations and saunters out into the corridor of the Electronics building where the fall air is seeping through the cracked windows. 

//can you take it straight to Harold?//

A moment later, contact information pops up on her phone and she rolls her eyes. _Really, Daniel?_ She’s been on campus since four pm, and it’s now pushing ten. She really just wants to drop off her extra curricular coding project and go home. Irritated, she thumbs a message out to this ‘Harold’ character as she slams out into the chilly night. 

//Harold? This is Root. I have some code for you//

Her breath mists in front of her as she ambles down the concrete stairs, heading for the quad for lack of a more specific direction. She’s already decided she’ll give this Harold guy ten minutes to get back to her while she gets a cup of hot chocolate, and then head home, but her phone beeps again immediately.

//Oh, wonderful, Miss Groves. Is there any chance you could bring it to the sports fields? I am on pitch 4, in the red jacket// 

_How does he know my real name?_ Root wonders with faint irritation as she turns on her heel and heads onto the shadowy footpath leading to the sports fields. The cash she’s getting for this particularly complicated structure is enough to make a short walk worth her while, and she’s also pretty curious to meet him. Her coursemate/ friend Daniel had mentioned he’d taken on some extra work free time with one of the TAs from his AI class, and Root accidentally gotten embroiled in the challenging structure he was working on, offering her own thoughts up. Eventually Daniel had given up and ended up handing it over to her in chagrin. 

Leaves crunch under her feet as she makes quick work of the forested path and emerges next to the sports building. Huge floodlights illuminating the pitches cast light across the parking lot, right to her, and groups of athletic looking people in the building are visible through large glass windows, all doing sporty things. 

Root smirks at the spandex clad joggers and follows the sign for pitch 4, not being overly familiar with the area. She sees someone sat on a folding chair between the pitches in a red jacket, and makes her way over, slightly damp grass catching on her converse sneakers. She lifts a hand in an awkward wave when the guy with the spiky brown hair makes eye contact and he gives her a lopsided smile as she heads over. 

“I think this is yours?” She offers him the drive and he eagerly takes it, face lighting up.

“Yes indeed. I must say the solutions you were working on were just, so elegant, I am very impressed. Would you be interested in...” He trails off, attention taking by yelling on the pitch, and Root turns to follow his eyeline. 

To her utter surprise, a tiny brunette girl is attacking a large, bald man, and as she watches someone hauls her off. The dude, 'Collier', by his shirt, is bleeding from the face, a lot, if the scarlet dripping down onto the fabric is anything to go by. The angry girl has ‘Shaw’ written on the back of her soccer jersey, and Root smirks at the sight of a huge man almost failing to physically restrain her. The argument is soon resolved by a tired looking referee, and the game resumes, but Root can practically see the fumes of rage rising off this Shaw as she boots the ball far down left field and sprints after it. 

“Oh, I was saying, I wondered if you were interested in any further work?” Harold regains her focus and she angles herself so she can see the field and him at the same time. 

“Definitely. I’d really like to see what you’re working on.” Root manages to split her attention fairly equally, and watch Shaw smack the ball into the net at high speed. She's incredibly graceful, moving with an economy of movement and confidence that is fascinating to Root. 

“Are you a big soccer fan?” Harold actually sounds faintly amused and Root blinks, realising how distracted she was. 

“Uh, something like that. You must be. You have a chair and everything.” 

“Well, not the sport itself, per se. My friends all play.”

“Are you friends with the tiny angry one?” Root absently fiddles with the string of her duffel coat. A shrill whistle pierces the night and the sprinting players all grind to a halt, some throwing their arms up in victory. 

“For goodness sake don’t let her hear you call her that. But yes, she’s actually my ...boyfriend!” 

Root blinks, totally confused. But hey, after that time she gave a new wok set to a pansexual she was seeing and did not get the excellent thank you sex she had anticipated, she’s been trying to educate herself around queer terminology, and if Harold wants to call Shaw his boyfriend she guesses... A large, sweaty man brushes past her and leans over, pecking Harold on the cheek. Oh.

“Boyfriend?” 

The big guy turns to her like he didn’t even see her, and extends a large hand. “Oh, hey! I’m Reese. John. John Reese. Either’s fine.” 

“Heh. I’m Root. Nice to meet you.” Now more people are approaching, a gaggle of three women including Shaw, to Root’s combined interest and awkwardness. For some reason she can’t seem to take her eyes off her. 

John keeps chattering, oblivious. “Did you come to see the game? We can always use more fans.”

“It was a practise, Reese.” Shaw remarks sourly before Root can reply, as she grabs a bag from next to Harold’s chair and rummages through it, hauling out a water bottle. Root drags her eyes away from the column of her throat swallowing and returns her attention to the group she’s now being introduced to by the large, enthusiastic John Reese.

“This is Root, Harold’s friend.” Both Harold and Root look a little surprised at the announcement, but Root manages a short, uncomfortable wave. 

“Hey, Root. I’m Joss, this is Zoe. The furious one is Shaw. Good to meet you” The gorgeous dark skinned girl drops down and starts taking off her cleats as she replies. 

“You coming for a beer?” Zoe chimes in, untying her sweaty brown hair and shaking it out before hauling it up into a messy bun. “After we’ve showered, obviously.” 

“I, uh...” Root had completely planned to go home, but now the group was looking at her expectantly, like they’d just adopted her, well, minus Shaw who is in some kind of battle to the death with her shin pads, and she feels a bit overwhelmed. The pause stretches out into discomfort, and Zoe smirks, looking from Root to Shaw and back again. 

“We’ll be back in a minute.” Somehow the four players have all changed into regular shoes while Root dithered and they jostle each other as they head for the building, leaving Harold to get to his feet and pack up his chair. 

He looks up at her as he slides the camp chair into a sleeve and hoists it over one shoulder. “You don’t have to. They’re very enthusiastic. But it would be lovely to pick your brains about that recursive loop you came up with.” 

“Enthusiastic. Hmm.” Well, except for Shaw, she adds in her head. Shaw had barely even looked at her. But, she realises with an inner sigh, she’s not exactly dressed to impress, if she’d known she was gonna run into someone so fascinating she’d have made an effort, but coding isn’t something she usually dresses up for. Harold starts walking with a pronounced hitch in his step toward the sports building, and Root hastens after him. “Well, one beer couldn’t hurt, could it?"


	2. Shaw Does Not Have A Thing For That Random Nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ here](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8dbf38b)

Shaw downs her first beer in a few, large gulps, and tries to ignore the doe eyes Harold’s friend keeps making at her. They’re deep in conversation about some math nonsense Shaw doesn’t understand, but every time she glances over the girl, Root, what a stupid name, is always either looking at her or looking away like she’d just got caught. 

Determined to focus on Zoe rating the boys in the bar for manliness, coolness and general attractiveness, Shaw turns her back on the pair of geeks jammed into a tiny bar table and scans the room, subtly pointing out a tall brunet gesticulating to his friends with exaggerated motions. He's wearing a heavy layer of guyliner. “How about that one?”

Zoe smirks, twitching an eyebrow. “That one being Matthew Reed? From personal experience, seven out of ten for manly, four for coolness once you get him on his own, and he would be an eight for attractiveness but his sheets were nasty and once you know that about a guy he drops considerably. So six, I guess. A begrudging six.”

Joss takes a sip of her beer and then offers it to Zoe in a salute. “True facts, my friend, very true.” She glances at Shaw, who is somehow looking over at Harold and Root again. “Are we boring you?” 

John pounds his beer back and gestures at the bar guy to bring another round over, sliding his bottle on to the bar surface. “Yeah, Shaw, you are looking _pretty_ distracted.” 

Shaw swears internally at being picked on, but then realises who is sat behind Root and Harold with a triumphant smirk, and jerks her chin. “Dunno what you’re talking about, I’m just giving Collier the evils. Asshole stepped right on my achilles, coulda put me out for the season.” 

“So you headbutted him.” John remarks dryly, picking up two sweating beers and passing one to Zoe, the other to Joss before grabbing his own.

“Yeah, I headbutted him. You saw.” Shaw says, deadpan, swiping her own drink and picking at the label with her thumbnail. 

“That’s a sign of sexual frustration.” Zoe snickers, gesturing at Shaw’s hand. “Plus, attacking members of our own team is pretty serious aggression, even for you. You need to get laid. Want a wingman?”

Shaw rolls her eyes “I don’t need a wingman to pick up a dude. You just walk up to them, say ‘hey, wanna bang?’ and nine out of ten times they say yes. The other time they usually have a girlfriend who gets mad about it, but hey, you win some you lose some.”

“Who said anything about a dude?” Joss snickers.

Zoe grins, “Well, don’t go home with Reed. Waste of time.” 

John pipes up, leaning his elbow on the bar “What about that guy?” he subtly motions at a big, blonde dude with a hipster beard, and Shaw groans.

“Brice? Shit, I slept with him in first year and he never stopped calling me.”

 

Joss cracks up laughing, “Oh, I totally remember that. He kept asking Harold for your schedule. Hilarious.”

“For you, maybe.” Shaw grumbles, but begrudgingly smiles. “Nah, I do have energy to burn though. You guys wanna head into the city and go dancing?” 

John shakes his head, glancing at his watch. “Harold and I have to go, he’s got a doctor’s appointment at eight tomorrow and I have a meeting with Fusco for our final project. You kids have fun though.” He downs the rest of his drink while Zoe and Joss exchange a glance and then nod.

“Sure, I’m in.” Joss jerks her chin at Root who is just saying goodbye to Harold, and John squeezes past them to grab his boyfriend’s hand. “Should we invite her?”

Shaw keeps a disinterested look on her face and shrugs. “Sure, more the merrier, right?” 

“You totally have a thing for her.” Zoe says, confidently, and Joss blinks, taken aback.

“Really? She doesn’t seem like your... type.”

“She’s not.” Irritated, Shaw knocks back the rest of her beer and threads her way over to the table, waving at Harold. Root already has her coat on, and looks ready to bail. “Hey, we’re gonna grab a cab and go dancing. You wanna join?” She sounds gruffer than she meant to, but Zoe’s comment has annoyed her. She doesn’t have a thing for this random nerd. 

Root looks torn, and then shakes her head, wrinkling her nose and giving Shaw a lopsided grin. It’s annoyingly cute. “Naw, I’m not dressed for it and I have a busy day tomorrow. Maybe some other time?” 

“Uh, sure.” Shaw keeps a blank, disinterested expression on her face as Root swings her chair back under the table, and makes to leave. 

“It was good to meet you, Shaw.” Her name sounds nice in Root’s mouth, and Shaw, inexplicably, blushes. Shaw never blushes. 

“You too, bye.” She doesn’t even wait for Zoe and Joss to pay, just plunges through the crowd and into the fresh air, breathing the crisp night in and furrowing her eyebrows. She wonders if she’s getting sick, feeling a little hot and flushed, but maybe she’s just drunk. She checks the time on her phone and shrugs. Three beers in an hour and fifteen minutes, not at all a lot for Shaw. 

Joss and Zoe are snickering as they bust out of the doors to the bar and take one of Shaw’s arms each, who immediately shoves them off, as she always does, but then they burst into song as they amble toward the taxi rank. “Shaw and Root, sitting in a tree, K I S S I N...” 

They don’t get the G out because Shaw reaches under both their coats, and with expertise born of practise, gives them both an enormous wedgie, cutting their stupid song off with curses and hopping. She smirks as they try to fish their underwear out of their buttcracks and hails a taxi. 


	3. Gross, But Fascinating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ here](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8dea6ee)

Root checks the time as she jogs up the stairs to the canteen building, pleased that she’s gonna make it in time for breakfast. For some reason, getting to sleep had been a bit of an issue for her last night, and she’d ended up tossing and turning til the wee hours of the morning. She doesn’t feel too sleepy though, and she joins the short queue fairly cheerfully.

She grabs an apple and some cereal as well as a coffee the size of her head, and waits patiently for her turn to get to the cashier, when she hears an angry growl coming from the second queue. Looking over to her left she spies Shaw, looking dishevelled and grouchy, frantically patting her pockets. The server is waiting with her hand extended and her eyebrow raised.

Root watches for a moment, taking in the fact that Shaw doesn’t have a bag with her, and her skin tight jeans don’t exactly leave many places to hide a wallet, and then sidles out of her queue with a murmured apology. She digs out her student card and passes it over to the server who is now irritably telling Shaw she has to put her tray down and leave it if she doesn’t have her card with her.

“Put them both on mine.” Shaw jumps, glares at her, and then sighs. It warms something in Root’s stomach.

“Thanks.” She looks like shit, and Root can’t help smirking as she takes in the plate that Shaw has selected. Bacon, sausages, fried bread, eggs, and more bacon. It looks like a heart attack on a plate to Root.

The server swipes her card and hands it back, muttering about idiot students, and Root gives her a cherubic grin. “You have a great day too! Thanks!” before heading into the hall.

Shaw stumbles after her, clearly half-asleep, and to Root’s mild surprise, follows her to a table. “Musta left my wallet in my room.”

Root looks her up and down, taking in the black jeans and hooded University sweater. “You’re wearing the same outfit you were yesterday,” she points out, dryly.

Shaw glares at her and tears off a mouthful of sausage, speaking through it. It’s gross, but oddly fascinating. “Or someone else’s room, whatever.”

Root has a mouthful of apple, so can’t reply straight away, and then her attention is taken by an awkward looking dude hovering at the side of the table. Shaw looks up, furrowing her brows.

“Can we help you?”

“Are you uh,” he looks down at a card in his hand, “Sameen Shaw?” his mouth works nervously under the weight of the glare he’s receiving.

“Who’s asking?” Shaw eyes him and deliberately spears her sausage through the middle, maintaining eyecontact. The boy flinches.

“Uh, I just... I found your wallet, I think?” He blurts out, and Shaw blinks, surprised, then holds out her hand. He passes over a black leather billfold and then, as an afterthought, the student card he was holding, she nods, and pushes the card back into place inside the wallet, checking the cash section and then raising a brow at him.

“Was there something else?” He dithers, then turns on his heel, practically running away, and Root lets out a snort. Shaw looks at her inquiringly.

“Well, you could have said thank you.” Root toys with her apple, and Shaw’s eyes flick down to her fingers.

“Nah.” She doesn’t elaborate, and Root looks at her, feeling a kind of fond amusement. Shaw scowls at the scrutiny and drains her coffee. “Here.” She pulls ten bucks out of her wallet, shoving it toward Root, who looks at it for a moment and then gives her a grin.

“That’s okay, I don’t mind buying a cute girl breakfast.” Her heart skips at her own audacity, but she gets to her feet before Shaw can respond. “See ya around!” She determinedly doesn’t look back until she’s almost out of the door, only to see that Shaw has already gone.

It’s a beautiful day, sunlight dripping over everything and the air is clear and crisp in her throat. She finishes her apple as she saunters over to the electronics building, mind turning over the problems she has to work on today. Her thesis project is due in six months, and she’s the only student she knows of working on something solo. She had to get special permission from Control to work alone, but Root’s never been much of a team player.

Today is Saturday, and the labs will be packed full of third and fourth years working towards their deadlines, which is why Root is up so early. She takes a moment to wonder why Shaw... Sameen, as she knows now, would be up so early and then remembers the girl’s heaped plate with a grin. Maybe she just needed a huge amount of meat to start the day... ew. Root shakes her head to rid herself of the unwelcome image of Shaw writhing on top of some guy, and swipes her card at the building entrance.

The lab is, as she predicted, already bustling, but she spies a dark head she recognises next to an open terminal and mooches over. The guy looks up at her and grins. “Morning, Root.”

“Hey, Daizo.” She slings her backpack on the chair and fishes out her laptop, then shrugs off her coat and settles down to work.

They get on with their separate projects for a few hours, until Root feels hunger nagging at her. She pokes Daizo in the arm, drawing his attention away from the reams of php on his screen and he blinks, taking his headphones off and looking at her in question. “Lunch?” She’s already locking her terminal as she asks, and he glances back at his screen before nodding, typing a few final pieces and also securing his work.

The terminals only stay locked for forty five minutes, so they go to the nearest cafe and settle down with sandwiches, talking code for a bit before Daizo points out the window. “Hey, I think that girl is waving at you.”

Root twists in her seat, and sure enough, Zoe is standing outside the glass, grinning. Root grins at her and Zoe points at her watch, then shows nine fingers, then mimes drinking. Root translates as ‘drinks at 9’ and blinks, surprised. But everyone last night had seemed really nice, and Harold was a fascinating guy to talk to, so she shrugs and nods. Zoe holds her mobile phone up with a question on her face, and Root can’t help but laugh, grabs her own and types her own number out, holding it to the window. A few seconds later, her phone buzzes with a new text.

//now you can never escape. Come to 17B, Parkwood at 9ish. Zoe//

She saves the number and replies.

//fine with me!//

Zoe winks at her through the window and saunters off, long legs eating up the ground, and Daizo grabs her attention by clearing his throat. “She seems nice.”

Root blinks, shoving her phone back into her pocket. “I guess. We just met last night, she’s friends with Harold, the AI guy, and a bunch of soccer players.”

Daizo shrugs and returns to his sandwich, polishing off the last scraps. “I’m glad you’re talking to more people than just us code monkeys,” he gets to his feet, pointing at the time.

With a sigh, Root wraps up her unfinished sandwich and pops it in her bag, following his example and they head back to the lab to finish up.

 

Amazing fan art by [@sapphicteaparty](http://sapphicteaparty.tumblr.com/)


	4. They Ate All The Meat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8e1eba1)
> 
> I was a third dan by the time I was in first year university and I think Shaw would definitely have been better than me, hence the four stripes. The competition stuff is based on the BUSA (british university sports assoc) system. Sorry to any North American martial artists who are thrown off by this.
> 
>  
> 
>  **CONTENT WARNING** \- In this chapter there is blackmail based on video evidence of a sexual encounter. If this is triggering for you please drop me a comment and I will fill you in on what happened.

Shaw grumbles as she rummages through the fridge. She’s still feeling a little rough around the edges, but it seems like the protein in casa Machine (named after their soccer team) has all been eaten by one of her awful housemates. She could have sworn she had a packet of deli ham jammed at the back of her shelf, but no such luck. By her feet, Bear whines, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. “I feel ya, boy. But there’s nothing here for us. Shall we go to the store?” 

Bear wags his tail excitedly and runs off to pick up his leash, prodding a smile out of Shaw. She’s really only in the shared house thing for the dog, but Bear is a _good_ dog. Technically he’s Harold’s service dog, but they all pretty much share ownership. 

The only person home right now is Joss, sprawled out on the sofa in pink sweatpants, watching some cooking show that is the reason Shaw is suddenly starving. Her hangover has mostly receded, which she attributes solely to the fact she managed to roll out of bed in time for breakfast. 

Her thoughts drift back to Root as she hooks Bear’s leash on to his collar. Even though she’s wearing the same jeans and hoodie as she was last night, the reason is actually innocent. Too hungover to figure out what to wear, she just pulled on the same things off her floor, with a clean shirt and undies. Shaw has no idea why she deliberately led Root to believe she slept over at someone’s place. She doesn’t even do sleepovers if she did fuck someone, and last night was all dancing with the girls and no picking up of strangers. But when Root jumped to conclusions, Shaw rolled with it for some reason. 

And now she keeps finding her thoughts drifting back to Harold’s new friend. She’s definitely not Shaw’s type, all nerdy and awkward, and even though she’s tall she doesn’t have a hint of athleticism about her. Shaw likes her women fit and toned, when she swings that way, which isn’t very frequently. But there’s something about Root’s sparkling eyes and wide grin that is interesting. 

_Yeah, she’s hot. Whatever_. She tells herself as she opens the door and tries not to fall over Bear as he makes a break for freedom. _So not a big deal_.

“Bring me Cheetos!” Joss demands regally from the living area as Shaw shuts the door behind her, and she rolls her eyes. 

Bear bounds down the path ahead of her, sniffing eagerly at the mounds of fallen leaves. Shaw breaks into a light jog behind him, forcing her muscles to cooperate and warm. The short run should make her sweat out the last of the booze and mean she’s in decent shape for this evening’s practise, although she might need a nap later.

Campus is quiet, peaceful even, and the sun warms her back through her black hoodie until she starts to sweat. She stops to pull it off over her head, and a familiar voice makes her freeze, head still stuck inside the fabric.

“Need a hand with that, gorgeous?” Martine drawls.

“No.” Shaw grunts, pulling it clear and tying it around her waist with furious deliberacy, rage instantly twisting inside her.

Martine smirks, leaning against a fencepost like she was somehow waiting for Shaw, and then stands up as Shaw starts jogging away, falling into pace with her. Bear growls. 

“Can I help you?” Shaw deliberately increases her pace, going from the soft jog she’d been dawdling in when alone to a punishing speed, hoping to lose Martine. 

“Oh, Shaw. You know how you can help me.” 

_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you_ , Shaw speeds up even more, even though she’s starting to feel faintly nauseous, she grits her teeth and promises herself that she will puke on Martine if necessary, but the athletic blonde keeps up with her with ease. 

They round the corner together and Shaw wheels to a halt, Bear anticipating her movements. Martine grinds to a stop a few meters ahead, and then saunters back. “Doing some shopping?” 

“Fuck off, Martine.” Clearly not engaging is not doing the trick, and Shaw can feel her heart pounding with a sickening mix of adrenaline and anger. Martine has the fucking _nerve_ to talk to her after what she did? She stomps toward the shop door, pausing to tie Bear’s leash to a handy sign. 

“I do wish you’d let this grudge go. We could still be _friends_ , you know...” Martine’s voice is laden with suggestion, and Shaw’s stomach squirms in disgust. 

“You’re psychotic. A cheating psycho.” The automatic door slides open too slowly and Martine follows her across the threshold. 

“You knew I had a girlfriend when you came back to my place. It’s okay, she didn’t mind. She quite enjoyed the video. I mean, who wouldn’t. Such a surprise to see someone so... well, _dominant_... debase themselves like that...” Martine basically giggles it and Shaw clenches her fists, feels the pressure turning her knuckles white.

“Oh!” Martine pretends to sound surprised, “are you _still_ sore about that little tournament?”

Shaw takes a deep breath and reminds herself that she’s one infraction away from getting kicked out of school completely, grabbing pastries from the bakery trays with unnecessary violence. ‘That little tournament’. The tournament Martine forced her to throw, threatening to release the film she made of them fucking. Bile rises in Shaw’s throat, stinging her nose, and she can hear the blood roaring in her ears. It takes everything she has not to smash Martine’s smug face in. 

That fight had cost Shaw her medal, her karate championship, and her pending sponsorship deal. Martine had taken it all. Shaw had thrown away her black belt, with it’s four silver stripes, the very next day. It made her want to throw up just looking at it. 

Fuck Martine. The blonde follows her around the store, trying to get her to engage, but Shaw shuts down and mechanically helps herself to what she wants, Martine’s voice forced into white noise until Shaw is paying at the cashier desk. “...and I saw you eating breakfast with Sam Groves this morning? She’s cute... I mean, not your usual, but cute. Kind of a quiet, nerdy thing. Nice. Shame she’s dropping the ball with her project clients, but what can you do?” Shaw had totally forgotten Martine was in Comp Sci, of course she knows Root. 

Shaw’s knuckles crack under their own tension and she slams her fist into the shelving next to Martine's face. Martine doesn't even flinch, and Shaw just glares at her, breathing heavily for a moment. She can see the excitement in Martine's eyes and Shaw bites her own cheek until she can taste blood, ignoring the shocked cashier and stuffing her purchases into a plastic bag. She storms out, unhooking Bear and sprinting for home, leaving Martine smirking at the till. 

She smashes through the front door, throwing a packet of Cheetos at Joss. Anger pounds through her body so fiercely she has to sit on the stairs, struggling to regain control over her physical responses.

“What’s wrong?” Joss sounds genuinely concerned, struggling upwards from her nest of pillows as Shaw stamps into the kitchen. She slams plates around, dishing up her food. 

“Fucking bitch face.” Bang, crash, boom.

“Ah. What happened?” Joss wanders into the kitchen, shooing Shaw out of the way and taking over, damaging the china way less in the process, realising that Shaw is in total shut down mode and will not be talking about it. “Here, come and watch Top Chef and eat this. You’ll feel better.” She grabs an ice pack out of the freezer, deftly wraps it in a napkin and hands it over. Shaw realises with surprise that her middle knuckle is split, oozing blood, and the skin is already puffy and red.

Begrudgingly, Shaw allows Joss to lead her into the living area and flops down into the sofa, stuffing her face with savoury pastry and wondering why it was the mention of Root that pushed her over the edge. The ice pack feels good on her sore hand, like it's cooling her temper. She wishes it had been Martine's nose she'd hurt herself on,

Their phones beep at the same time and Shaw looks down. A text from Zoe.

//hey kids, Root’s coming for movie night because I wanna see Shaw’s ‘I’m not sure if I wanna puke or make out with her' face again//

Joss glances over at Shaw, worried, and Shaw takes a deep breath and a mouthful of pastry. Seemingly satisfied for now, Joss clicks the TV show back on and thinks worriedly of what options they have to deal with the Martine situation, before Shaw actually snaps and kills her.


	5. Try It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8e52b0d)
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING - Homophobia and gay bashing. If this is triggering for you, please let me know in the comments and I can fill you in.**

“Harold, hey!” Root recognizes the spiky hair and impeded stride from across the quad as she exits the campus store, but he’s already turning off toward Parkwood. She speeds up a bit, knowing she’ll probably catch up with him halfway there. It’d be good to arrive with him. The bottle of wine she’s carrying pulls heavily at her hand as she swings it a little, striding down the tree sheltered path.

It’s another beautiful night, tail end of a sunny September, and the air is cool as it tugs at her long hair and blue jacket. The orange sheen of street lights glows in broad circles on the narrow path and she stuffs her rapidly chilling free hand in her pocket, moving quickly. 

Up ahead, she hears a noise, a scuffle, and then a yell of fear or pain. Shocked, she breaks into a run and rounds the corner, greeted with the sight of Harold on the ground, balled up, and two men standing over him. Fear rushes through her, threaded with rage. As she watches, one of them pulls his leg back for a kick. 

“Little faggot. Tell your freak boyfriend we...” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Root scatters the contents of her purse behind her as she charges, screaming and pulling her taser out. She jabs it into his throat as he turns, taking him totally by surprise. 

His body shudders, jerking and dropping. The other guy spins to face her, eyes wide. On the floor, Harold isn’t moving and Root carefully places herself between him and the second guy. The man, balding and thin, flicks his eyes from side to side, then to her hand, white knuckled around the shaft of the taser. 

She bares her teeth at him, “Try it,” and he turns, sprinting into the darkness. 

Her hands shake and she lets go of her bag of wine. It shatters at her feet, making her start and leaking red liquid in an expanding puddle. She carefully puts her taser back in her purse before taking two quick steps to Harold, bending down and touching his shoulder, terrified. He blinks up at her owlishly, spectacles broken and blood painting his lower face like a mask. There are tears in his blue eyes and he painfully shifts into a sitting position. 

Relief roars through her like a tidal wave. He’s okay, he’s alive. He’s okay. It’s not Hanna. He’s alive. 

“Ms Groves.” His usually precise voice tremors.

“Are you okay, Harry? Can you walk?” Her voice sounds surprisingly firm. Behind her, the first guy, the one she tasered, groans. Harold flinches.

“Yes, I... I think so.” She helps him to his feet, and leads him to lean against a post. 

“Wait for a second.” The man on the ground is heavy, with a shaved head and dark skin, she notes. She manages to lift him enough to get his cellphone out of his pocket. She picks up her dropped things with unsteady hands and stuffs them, and the phone into her purse before sliding her hand under Harold’s coat, around his waist and helping him limp painfully down the path.

They walk in silence, Root can feel the shudders in his body and wonders if she should have called an ambulance. In front of them, buildings start to loom out of the darkness, the housing units they’re headed for. 

It takes another fifteen minutes to get Harold to the door, and he’s shaking so hard he can’t get his key in the hole. 

Root is just taking it off him when the door opens and Joss grins at them. “Too drunk to open..” She trails off, taking in Harold’s blood-smeared face and her expression slides into seriousness. 

She half tugs them through the door, yelling, “Shaw, Zoe!” before checking the yard and path in front of the house and locking the door behind them. 

Shaw thunders down the stairs, “What?” She takes in the situation at a glance, and has Harold out of Root’s hands and onto the couch before Root can blink. For a few minutes everything is a bustle of activity, Joss fetches Harold some pills and cleans his face, Shaw takes his shirt off and inspects his bruised chest and back with clinical hands, Zoe makes everyone a cup of tea and then sits on the couch arm, petting Harold’s hair with one hand and texting with the other. 

Joss leads Root to a chair and hands her a cup of sweet, hot tea, which she sips at, her chattering teeth vibrating against the china. 

“John’s on his way.” Zoe pipes up, and Root realises that’s who she was texting. 

Shaw finishes with Harold and slides over to Root, placing a bruised hand on the arm of her chair. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

Root almost can’t look away from the purple stain on Shaw’s knuckles.“Some guys, I dunno. I came around the corner and Harold was...” She looks over at him, wide-eyed and pale, staring into his tea. “Hurt. They hurt him. I tasered one of them and the other one ran off.”

“You tasered one of them?” Shaw sounds faintly amused, and Root looks up to see a smirk hiding at the corner of her mouth. “Good work. So they didn’t hurt you?” 

“No. No.. I’m just...” 

“In shock.” Shaw gets up and leaves for a moment, Root misses the warmth of her against her knees, but she’s back in a moment with a bottle of amber liquid, which she tips a healthy glug of into Root’s tea. “Drink up.” 

The door slams open, John stumbling through and running into the living room. Zoe wisely dives off the couch out of his way as he drops to his knees in front of Harold, hands hovering uselessly above his legs, total panic on his face.

“I’m okay.” Harold melts forward and John wraps his arms around him, burying his face in his neck. It’s too intimate, and Root looks away, inadvertently meeting Shaw’s eyes, who immediately rolls them. 

“Who was it?” John’s voice is muffled, but sounds like iron.

“I don’t know.” Harold strokes his hair gently, seeming to have gathered strength now that John is falling apart. He looks over at Root and gives her a little headshake. 

Her hands steady as she drinks the heavily laced tea, and she slowly becomes hyper aware of the fact that Shaw is still standing next to her. Root could lean her cheek against Shaw’s thigh if she wanted to, that’s how close she is. Firm hands take her empty mug and set it down on the table, and suddenly Root feels like she’s suffocating. She gets to her feet and stumbles into the kitchen, pressing her hands against the cool surface of the sink and taking a deep breath. 

After a moment of two she hears a whisper of sound behind her and turns. Shaw is leaning in the doorway. “You did good. Harold’s okay. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” 

Root chokes on the words swirling in her. _I should have walked faster, I should have caught up with him quicker._

Shaw eyes her for a moment, then steps forward and gently puts her hand on Root’s shoulder. “Thank you for stopping them.” 

Root crumples forward, burying her face in Shaw’s neck. Shaw freezes, then awkwardly wraps her arms around Root’s back and pats her on one shoulder with little finesse. “It’s okay.” Root breathes in hot, desperate pants against Shaw’s pulse point and the smaller woman shivers inadvertently. 

They stand like that for a few minutes before Root calms and Shaw detangles herself, stepping back and not meeting Root’s eyes. 

Root busies herself getting some water, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I ...” She takes a deep breath and swallows. “I’m not usually like this. My friend was... she was killed last year. When I saw Harold... I thought. I thought it was happening again.” She doesn’t know why she’s telling Shaw this, but it’s easier not looking at her. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Shaw’s reflection in the window above the sink, dark eyed and steady. 

They look at each other like that in silence until Joss calls from the other room. “Oy, awkward turtles, get in here. We’re about to start the world’s best movie.” 

The moment broken, Shaw manages a short, lopsided smile in the window and then moves into the living room. 

When Root follows a few minutes later Amanda Bynes is kicking a soccer ball on the flatscreen. John is sat on end of the couch, both hands petting Harold who is curled on a beanbag between his legs. Next to him, Zoe and Joss are wound together, long legs everywhere, and Shaw is squashed into the other corner. She catches Root’s eye and points at a pile of cushions on the floor in front of her. Root folds herself down comfortably, and jumps when Shaw’s hand slides onto her shoulder for a second before retreating. The warm spot stays with her all through the movie.


	6. She's Cute, She's Smart, And She Owns A Taser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos (but especially comments) for this story. Every single comment makes my day. You're all awesome.
> 
> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8e8e2ee)

Shaw finds her attention drifting away from the screen and to Root like clockwork, every few minutes. In all fairness, she’s seen She’s the Man probably forty times (although it is really funny) because it’s a movie they can all agree on, and she thinks it was a good choice for the emotional situation they unexpectedly found themselves in this evening.

Looking over at Harold who looks strained around the eyes and mouth, she thinks now wouldn’t have been a good time for Die Hard, which was what they’d originally planned to watch. 

Harold’s never been a huge fan of blood and guts, although Shaw and John often manage to persuade him. Zoe will watch anything with hot boys in it and Joss says everything they pick is terrible, but really isn’t picky. One thing they all enjoy is soccer based chick flicks. (Sadly, only two exist, as far as Shaw’s aware)

In front of her, Root has one arm propped up on her knee, resting her chin on her forearm as she interestedly watches the movie. She laughs out loud a few times, and Shaw has to resist the weird urge to wrap her hand around that long, delicate throat to feel the sound bubbling out against her palm. 

Feeling eyes on her, Shaw blinks and looks back at the screen, but Zoe’s long fingers poke her in the side and she can see the knowing smirk on the psych student’s face from the corner of her eye. Stupid knowing-things-body-language-interpreter Zoe. Urgh. She thinks she’s _so_ good at people. 

She slides out of her seat, squirming past Root and definitely not brushing her fingers across Root’s long hair, because that would be weird, and heads for the kitchen. She rummages in the back of her cupboard til she finds her special occasion whisky and pours a healthy measure, taking a sip and leaning against the fridge. 

Zoe pads into the room, giving her an eyebrow waggle. “She’s cute, she’s smart, and she owns a taser. What’s not to like?” Thankfully her voice is pitched low and the television sound should drown it out. 

Shaw rolls her eyes and takes a long, slow sip of Macallen, ignoring the question and rolling the burn around her tongue. Zoe shifts up next to her and grabs her glass, trying to steal a sip. Shaw does not let go and Zoe rolls her eyes, going to the fridge for another beer. “She’s not Tomas. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Her words fall into the empty air of the kitchen, because Shaw has already left, not wanting to have this conversation. Now, or ever. Whatever Zoe sees, or thinks she sees, is stupid, wrong and never going to happen, she tells herself as she climbs back over the couch arm and slips her legs down onto the floor. While she was gone, Root has shifted a bit and now Shaw’s only option is to put one leg each side of her. Her _only_ option. It would be rude to ask her to move, after all.

So Shaw relaxes with her knees lightly touching Root’s shoulders, and if she notices the faint flush creeping up Root’s neck she definitely doesn’t stare at it. 

After the movie’s over, Root gets to her feet and stretches. “Hey, do you have a laptop I can use?” She’s speaking to the room in general, but Harold pipes up.

“You can use mine, it’s on the table.” 

“Ooh, beauty. You bootcamped it?” Root sounds gleeful as it starts up and Shaw rolls her eyes, digging her phone out of her pocket to check her emails. She can’t help her eyes flicking to Root, and she sees that Root is doing very complicated looking things, with files bouncing up and down and fancy black boxes with green text in them and shit. Against her better instincts, she mooches over, looking down at the screen.

“Whatcha doing? Work?” 

 

Root’s fingers race over the keys and two pictures pop up and stick to the right hand side, student IDs. A Black man with a handsome face and a shaved head, and a whipcord lean looking Caucasian dude with thinning hair and eyes like a shark. 

Behind her, Harold makes a squawking noise and turns it into a cough. Root looks up at Shaw and winks. “Sort of.” 

When Shaw looks at Harold he’s white, his eyes fixed on Root’s screen. 

John looks down at him, worried. “What’s wrong, lover?” But Shaw has already figured it out.

“That’s them, isn’t it? Those are the guys?” She looks closer. “Mark Snow and Tyrell Evans?”

Root hums agreement, still working with her eyes flashing around the screen and data flicking up over and over again. Shaw leans in, fascinated. “What are you doing?”

“Ruining their lives a bit. I took one of their phones. Not hard to ... and done!” She proclaims as she hits enter for the last time and sits back, a big grin on her face. “There we go. They’ll be kicked out of school by Monday morning.” 

Joss unfolds from the sofa, prowling over. Zoe looks impressed, leaning against John’s shoulder. John mostly looks confused like he hasn’t quite caught up yet. “Mark and Tyrell? They hurt you?” Harold leans up and whispers something that Shaw can’t make out into John’s ear, and the big guy subsides a little, but his jaw stays tightly clenched.

“Isn’t that... I dunno. A little extreme?” Joss sounds worried, and Zoe snorts.

“Isn’t attacking someone a little extreme?” There’s something in her voice that also carries the fact that Harold isn’t exactly the person to be able to defend himself. 

Harold pipes up then, voice steady now. “I might have done something similar, given time to ... organise my thoughts. Thank you, Root.” It’s the first time he’s used her chosen name, and Root grins widely at him.

“Any time, Harry.” 

“You can just do that?” Shaw scowls at the computer like she’s trying to get it to give up its secrets and Root snickers, blowing on her fingernails and buffing them on her shirt.

“Baby, gimme a decent piece of hardware and I can do anything.” 

Shaw exchanges a glance with Joss who tilts her head and then nods, eyebrows raised. Shaw cracks her neck. “Hey, uh. I could maybe use your help...”  


***

  
Root follows Shaw up the stairs, her socks cooling quickly on the hardwood. The upstairs corridor is papered with posters from martial arts movies, and Shaw sees her looking and shrugs. “I used to be really into martial arts. Which actually leads me into the favour pretty nicely.”

She opens the door to what is presumably her room, and Root shuffles in. It’s big, dark red walls that are bare except for a single, massive painting of what looks like an explosion. The furniture is dark wood, pretty nice, and there’s a well-stocked bookshelf. Clothes are scattered around, but it’s not really messy at all. Shaw flops down on the double bed, waving a hand at a desk chair. Root perches on it and raises an eyebrow, waiting for Shaw to continue. She can tell whatever is about to be shared with her is pretty intense. 

The shorter girl lies down on her back, putting her hands under her head, clearly not wanting to make eye contact, and Root busies herself looking around the room while Shaw starts to talk.

“So there’s this girl. We both do.. did.. karate. Last summer was the University Championships. Martine... we. We hooked up, and she taped it without me knowing. And then she said if I didn’t throw the fight she’d send the video out to everyone. _Everyone_. My mom. My sponsors. My classmates. So I did, I threw the fight and did what she said. I quit so I wouldn’t have to see her anymore, but she won’t let it go.” Shaw trails off and hooks her phone out of her pocket, scrolling through something and handing it to Root without looking at her.

Root takes the phone and almost drops it. It’s a text message from an unknown number with an image. The picture is small on the phone screen but even in that one still Root can see someone is restrained, on her knees. The myriad thin, angry red marks up and down the bare thighs and ass leave little to the imagination. The message under the images says “you look so good when you beg.” 

She does drop the phone then, it bounces on the carpet and Root looks down at her hands, picking at her nail beds, something inside her feeling sharp and uncomfortable, like she’s swallowed glass.

Shaw’s voice is small. “She sends me stuff like that all the time. But I know if I go to the police, or anything, she’ll do it. She’s fucking crazy. I can’t... my mom. She can’t see me like that.”

Not to mention everyone else, Root thinks. Employers, coworkers, friends, lecturers. Revenge porn has ruined lives completely, and Root is familiar enough with the seedy underbelly of the internet to know how it works. If this video gets put on the internet, Shaw never escapes. Never.

“I’ll take care of it.” Her voice is brittle, and she can’t look at Shaw, doesn’t want to see her. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she feels physically sick. “Martine... Is it Martine Rousseau?” 

“Yes.” 

Root gets up and opens the bedroom door, forcing herself to glance back at Shaw. She’s got a raw, vacant look on her face and Root grits her teeth. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” 

Rage beats a savage tattoo in her chest as she walks quietly down the stairs, letting herself out without saying goodbye to anyone. She doesn’t realise she forgot her coat and purse until she’s halfway across campus, she’s so busy thinking about ways to destroy Martine’s life. By the time she makes it home she has an outline of a plan, but she’s gonna need some help to pull it off.


	7. Giving Nature a Push

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** \- very mild voyeurism
> 
> The soccer part got a bit out of hand. I miss soccer. It was only supposed to be a few lines before Root showed up. Oops. (Out for five weeks due to tendon injury in my wrist!)
> 
> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8eb72ee)

The rain is that insidious, drizzly kind that soaks you immediately, and chills you to the bone. Shaw rubs her arms furiously as John chases the out of bounds ball and dribbles it back to the sideline, flicking it up with his toes and into his hands.

She bolts past the defender who’s marking her, spinning around him and sprinting forward, into the space John eyed up casually as he returned to the line.

The throw is good, soaring through the air and she traps it easily, tapping it forward and gaining ground before she’s tackled. She manages to hold on to it, although it’s close and she’s forced off her line to keep control of the ball, looking around frantically for someone to pass to as two more defenders close in on her.

On the far right, Frankie breaks free and dodges around the other team’s player, closing in on the keeper and throwing her hand up to catch Shaw’s eye, but Shaw doesn’t have the space to pass it high. She hears John shout behind her. “Space ball!” and flicks the ball up behind her, trusting that there’s no opposition closing in on her.

She throws herself to the right, and hears the satisfying thunk of a strong kick smacking the ball, and then the swish of the net. Clambering to her feet, covered in mud, she’s scooped off the floor by an ecstatic John, joy lighting up his handsome face.

“Epic, Shaw, epic! I totally thought I was gonna clip you, but man, you really committed to that dive!”

She doesn’t have time to reply before they’re mobbed by a triumphant Harper and Joss, both ignoring the dripping mud soaking Shaw’s clammy skin.

They jog back to their side on slipping feet, rejuvenated by the goal. It’s only two minutes to half time, and the other team barely kicks off before the whistle blows and the bedraggled team trudge off to the sidelines.

Harold greets them with blankets and Styrofoam cups full of steaming hot chocolate and Shaw grabs hers in delight, burning her mouth and not caring at all as the sweet, hot liquid spreads energy back through her tired body. “Harold, you are a fucking hero.” He blushes sweetly and bustles off to hand out drinks to the rest of the team.

She huddles with Joss and Zoe under a large golf umbrella, taking it in turns to hold it while the others stretch to stay warm and change their shirts for warm, dry ones. Shaw is grateful to get rid of the sticky coating of mud she picked up down her whole front.

The break is far too short before the ref is beckoning them back onto the field for the second half. Forty five more minutes of gruelling, freezing slogging through the mud. It’s 2-1 to Team Machine right now but they’re getting tired.

John is, as ever, a boundless ball of energy, Collier and Jason are holding up, but Laskey looks ready to fall down. Shaw’s in the best shape of any of the girls thanks to her compulsive need to exercise and she’s feeling okay, but the rest of the woman are looking pretty droopy.

The team exchanges back slaps and shoulder punches, getting their energy back up, and break with a shout of ‘Go Machine’ to their positions.

Kickoff sets the pace for the second half, a brutally fast run by the talented striker on the other team resulting in a goal Jason had absolutely no hope of stopping. He punches the ground in frustration as he picks the ball up, lobbing it out to Shaw so she can take the kick.

She dribbles it up the pitch and sets it up, lifting a hand and signalling with a clenched fist, and then two fingers up.

Tapping the ball out to the right, Zoe picks it up and takes it past the first tackle, but loses it to a brilliant slide from a red headed girl on the other side, she gamely runs down the thief but Harper beats her to it. The girl has incredible feet, and takes the ball right out from under the other girl, leaving her whirling around in confusion, not even clear on what happened.

Harper doesn’t have a lot of speed, so she boots it out to John who passes up to Collier and Shaw runs in for the cross when she glances back and almost misses her footing.

Waving at her excitedly from the sidelines is Root. Shaw hasn’t seen or heard from her in a week, but there she is, bundled up and whooping with her hand in the air. She’s pink-cheeked and wearing a ridiculous floppy hat and then Shaw hears her name yelled and remembers where she is.

She whirls in time to get the cross she’d been waiting for straight in the face, which is promptly followed up with a total body slam as a defender collides with her.

Mud squashes out from under her, cushioning her fall, but the fella on top of her is a beef cake and she’s totally winded. He clambers off and reaches down to help her up, but she ignores his hand in favour of scraping herself off the ground.

“Fucking hell.” Her nose is bleeding, but it’s so cold she can’t really feel it, and she leans forward and blows out to clear her airway and check it’s not broken. Her team surrounds her before she’s upright, and concerned hands tip her head back, she pulls away.

“Get off me, Jesus. You’ll make me swallow the blood. ‘M fine.” She peers around for the ref, touching the bridge of her nose and checking it’s still in a straight line.

The ref has a yellow up, and she grunts in satisfaction, jerking her chin at the guy who landed on her to pass her the ball.

“Do you need to go off?” John hovers, concerned before she bats him away, pointing him back to his position.

“When have you ever known me to need to go off?” She mutters angrily under her breath before taking her free kick. The defenders get in each other’s way, blocking the keeper’s view, and Harper sneaks the ball free, knocking it up for Collier who heads it right into the corner, with a messy but effective move.

3-2

Shaw deliberately doesn’t look at Root for the rest of the game, in case her weird lapse of concentration happens again. Her nose throbs in an irritating fashion, but the rest of the team seems to have perked up a bit and they manage to hold the score, then Zoe gets an awesome goal from just outside the penalty box with four minutes to go.

Team Machine work their butts off and Jason makes an epic save, tipping the ball just around the post and getting a faceful of mud for his trouble. Laskey is the weakest link, and Shaw drops back from centre field to try and and keep the pressure off him a bit, and then finally, the whistle blows and Team Machine has won!

Shaw puts up with four hugs, which is pretty much her maximum, even in the sweaty, sports sense, and then they all stumble to the sidelines, totally exhausted. Harold has magicked up some more hot drinks from somewhere, and they bumble to the changing rooms complimenting each other on their epic game.

The shower is the best thing that has ever happened to Shaw, and she stays under it until long after Zoe and Joss are ready to leave, telling Shaw they’ll wait for her in the cafe.

She luxuriates in the spray with her eyes closed, letting the heat wash away the aches and chill of the game. Shaw kind of hates being cold, although she can tolerate it without complaining, but thawing out loosens her muscles and she starts to feel the pains of a brutal game seeping out of her bones.

When she opens her eyes, she just about falls over in shock, her foot sliding on the wet tile and she has to grab the hot pipe to regain her balance.

Root is standing just opposite the showers, eyes hungrily fixed on Shaw with a weird, open look on her face that hits Shaw right in the groin.

Shaw snatches her hand off the pipe, wincing and stalks towards her, grabbing her towel. “Jeez, stalk much?”

She doesn't cover herself, refusing to be embarrassed, and Root blinks, looking away with red staining her cheeks and neck vividly. “God, sorry. Zoe said you wanted to see me, and then you were... showering. I just came in, honest.”

 _Zoe, I am going to kill you_. Shaw grunts in acknowledgement, easily able to believe her meddling friend took advantage of Shaw's long shower to manipulate Root into getting an eyeful. She towels off vigorously and pulls on her underwear. Root practically trips over a bench as she spins around, making sure her back is to Shaw and talking fast.

“Anyway, I did want to speak to you. What’s your favourite TV show on Netflix?”

Shaw yanks her soft jeans on and curses when her sports bra refuses to cooperate with her damp skin. “My favourite TV show on Netflix?” Her delivery is deadpan, and she eyes Root’s slender back to make sure she’s still not looking as she struggles into her stupid bra.

“Yeah, it’s important.” Root seems to have regained the composure that being caught hungrily eyeing up Shaw’s naked body momentarily stripped her of, and Shaw can see that she’s typing something on her phone.

Finished dressing, Shaw stuffs her disgusting kit into her sports bag and starts for the exit, brushing past Root who almost imperceptibly shivers with the impact.

“Uh, Orange is the New Black is pretty good, I guess. Buffy. The Walking Dead is alright.”

“Okay, perfect. Watch Buffy by yourself tonight. From.. let’s say seven until ten, at least. Have a great day!” Root pops her umbrella up and flashes Shaw a big grin before turning around the corner, leaving Shaw confused and annoyed, to head toward the cafe where her friends are stuffed around a tiny table.

Zoe gives her a shit-eating grin and Joss looks at Shaw’s expression, then back to Zoe. “Oh no, what did you do?”

“Who, me?” Zoe flutters her eyelashes innocently. “I just gave nature a little push, that’s all.”

Shaw pulls Zoe’s ponytail half playfully, half violently. “I will get you back. Somehow, someday."

Zoe smirks, draining her coffee. "I'll be sure to sleep with one eye open, tough guy."

Now Shaw’s ready to go, John and Harold get to their feet, Zoe and Joss following suit.

“So, anyone else feel like they’ve been run over and definitely deserve takeaway and celebratory beers somewhere warm and cozy?” John asks.

Joss slings her bag over her shoulder and runs her hand through her still wet hair. “Definitely. Home, Jeeves!”

Harold rolls his eyes, fishing his car keys out of his pocket. “I’m not even British!”

amazing fan art by [@sapphicteaparty](http://sapphicteaparty.tumblr.com/)


	8. Expect Her To Break In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone leaving kudos and comments, it makes a huge difference to how motivated I am <3
> 
> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8eebcb1)

Root whistles as she heads around the sports building, in a very good mood. Her almost eidetic memory is playing back the sight of Shaw in the shower, dripping water running down her brown skin. Soft curves and muscle and hard lines leading down to her groin, mmhm, Root can get behind that. Or in front of it, she’s not fussy. Then when Shaw’s eyes opened, fixed on her and a murderous expression crossed her face...If anything, the heat of her anger was what really sent butterflies whirling through Root’s stomach.

 _It does seem a little unbalanced that I’ve seen Shaw naked_ twice _now_. She snickers to herself, wondering if she should send Shaw a naked picture, but thinks better of it when she remembers the type of naked pictures Shaw is used to getting. Kind of spoils the fun of it. Oh well, she’s sure she’ll come up with something to even the score, given time.

The wind whips her jacket around her and she shivers, wondering why the hell anyone would agree to play sport in this weather. She flags a cab, and hops in, rattling off an address and settling in with her phone. 

//Caleb! I need that algorithm. It’s urgent. I’m coming to your house. If you’re not there in five expect me to break in//

//I’m here. Just finished up. And believe me, I wanna know what you’re doing//

//fill you in when I get there//

She hops out of the cab and pays the guy, buzzing Caleb and waiting for him to open his swanky door to his swanky apartment. She slings her coat over a wooden chair as soon as he lets her in, and bangs her computer down on the kitchen island.

“It’s a big project, total blackout on this, okay?”

He grabs her a glass of water and sets it down, puzzled expression on his face. “Sure, I mean, of course, Root, but what’s going on?” 

“There’s a doxxer on campus, and I need to shut them down. Permanently.” 

His mouth drops open. “Are you... are you gonna _kill_ someone?”

She snorts, fingers tapping confidently on keys, and then she holds her hand out, clearly wanting him to pass her the algorithm she needs. “No. Although I probably wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if she happened to die. I’m just going to... take care of her. And I need that algorithm you worked into the university servers to make sure that I find every copy of what she has and destroy it, totally. It’s important.” 

He nods seriously and strides into the other room, coming back moments later with an external hard drive, handing it over. “Be careful.” 

“Always am.” She feels lighthearted and giddy now that her plan is coming together, and she checks the contents of the drive before shutting her laptop down and getting to her feet. “Sorry for the drive by, but I have a lot to do.” She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, none of this will come back to you.” 

He waves a hand dismissively, and she grins. Caleb knows how to cover his tracks, that’s for sure. “Thanks for trusting me.” She catches his eyes as she says it, so he knows she’s serious, and he bites his lip as he nods. 

“No problem, Root. Call me if you need to borrow my lawyer.” 

She snorts and pulls her coat back on, waggling her eyebrows. “Always do!” 

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind her, still looking a bit worried. Root starts work in the cab home, plugging the drive into her computer and folding his beautifully complex worm back in on itself, setting new parameters, and tweaking statements until the cab pulls back into the university housing complex she lives in and she has to run through now heavy rain to get inside. 

She checks her watch. Four PM. She has about four hours before Martine leaves for the Karate social she’s hosting. 

 

//Hey crew! I need a favour tonight. Code black// 

She fires the message off to Daniel, Daizo and Leon and waits for their replies. 

All of them get back to her in moments, with an affirmative. They know she’s not messing around with a code black, and all of them will delete the messages she sends. 

//My place 6:15//

The boys turn up in dribs and drabs, and she lets them in, one by one. When they’re all sat around in her living room, she flicks the TV screen on and starts her presentation. Because presentations are awesome. 

As the last slide comes up, the boys blink at her. Daniel is the first to pipe up. “That’s hectic. Awesome. I’m in, and I’ll take social networks.”

Leon smirks and raises his hand like he’s asking a question in class. “Finances for me, I guess?”

Root nods, and points at Daizo, “Which leaves you with the university system and the algorithm I’ve rewritten, you’ll need to guide it and set it up so it propagates. I want every single computer she’s ever connected to infected with this okay, scorch the earth. I’ll leave the system in our dead drop by eight thirty.” Daizo nods, his thinking face on. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I can do that.” 

“Great. Thanks guys. Your usual compensation will make its way to you at eight sharp, which is also when you begin. I need you in and out by ten. Daizo, you have more wriggle room, but done by eleven, okay?” 

Meeting adjourned, the guys straggle out, chatting quietly to each other at the breadth of Root’s plan and she hums happily to herself as she pulls on black pants, black sneakers, a black long sleeved shirt and a black hat. 

To her extreme delight, the rain has petered out by the time she’s left her building. That will make phase one point four and three point one much easier. 

Walking across campus takes a while because Root’s bag is heavy with her laptop, various cables, and some other bits and bobs. She also has to avoid anyone using the path. She’s soaked through by the time she gets to her destination, just from brushing against wet branches and grass.

She waits outside Martine’s apartment at exactly seven thirty, hidden by a large tree and waits until the blonde girl saunters out, hand in hand with a brunette that Root knows is called Kara Stanton, thanks to her research. 

The girls huddle together under an umbrella, and then hop on the campus bus when it arrives.  
Root has used the time they were waiting to pair with both of their phones, and she sets up a GPS alert to let her know if they are within two kilometers of her. Then she slides forwards through the bushes until she reaches Martine’s house. 

Climbing up the drainpipe is slippery and a little more challenging than Root had hoped, her leather gloves not providing great grip, but after a few heart in mouth moments she makes it to the top and braces her feet on a cross piece, holding onto the window frame with one hand. The window is relatively easy to jimmy (as it should be after spending seven hours during the week practising with her most felonious friend, Romeo) and she creeps through the frame without any problems. 

Once inside, she quickly shuts the window behind her, and sets to work. First up is finding a copy of the full video and stripping out its file information so she can plug it into her adapted worm. 

Martine’s computer has adequate security on it, but Root manages to get access via the dos menus and swiftly locates a folder with a password, which she bypasses and extracts the contents of. 

She almost bites through her lip when she checks the file, but she has to, there’s no point in doing this if she doesn’t get the right video. She immediately knows it’s correct because the opening scene is Martine, winking at the camera as she slams a blindfolded Shaw down on to the bed. 

Root’s throat hurts and she quickly pauses the video, exiting out and taking a deep breath. She still can’t believe someone would violate Shaw like this, take something consensual and enjoyable and use it to victimise. 

Martine makes her feel sick, and she takes vicious pleasure knowing that right now, her team is finding every piece of dirty laundry Martine’s ever touched and making up the blackmail file of the century. 

She strips the information she needs out of the file’s properties and uploads it to her dead drop for Daizo to pick up. The worm will hunt down every matching video and still image taken from this video, using sophisticated image analysis software that Caleb has been working on for years. Any computer Martine has ever touched, even virtually through email will be scanned thanks to Daizo’s tracking and monitoring. Every shred of the file will be corrupted, leaving nothing left to restore.

She sticks a note to the drop telling Daizo not to watch the video on pain of death, and then leaves the machine churning through its data to delete every last shadow of the file. 

Meanwhile, she systematically searches Martine’s room for any hard copies. She finds fourteen USB sticks, two external harddrives, three memory cards and wipes them all save one with a magnet she brought along especially for the occasion before replacing them where she found them, gloves on of course. 

All told it takes her two hours, and she’s sweating a little by the time she glances out the window and clambers down the wet wall. She makes sure there are no footprints stomped into the damp ground by poking it with a stick, and then slips back into the forested path. 

She crouches down and waits for a few minutes, checking she’s escaped undetected, and then fishes the illegal fireworks she got Romeo to pick up for her out of her bag. He’s a useful man to know.

It takes her four tries to get one through Martine’s window, but the next two go in just fine, and she methodically packs up any trace of her presence before jogging through the woods, taking the long route. The sound of bangs and whistles going off behind her keep a smirk on her face all the way home.

By eleven she’s back in her house, and dialling Shaw, who picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, sweetie. How was Buffy?” 

“Uh... good. I guess? Are you ready to tell me the purpose of that yet?” Shaw sounds pretty irritated and it brings a broad grin to Root’s face as she shrugs off her coat and flops down on the sofa. 

“Well, when the police come asking, probably tomorrow. I was at yours all evening, and we were watching Buffy. I climbed through the window so your housemates didn’t see me, because you don’t want anyone to know we’re hooking up.”

 

“What? We’re not hooking up.” The confused note in Shaw’s voice makes Root crinkle her nose.

“Yet. But they don’t need to know that. You’re my alibi. And thank you very much for that, by the way. Since my criminal activity was on your behalf, it’s the least you can do.” Root pours herself a large glass of wine and clicks on the TV. “Oh, and this phone call was just me letting you know I got home safe, because you worry. When they check your phone, that’s what you tell them.” 

“Uh... puh..buh.” 

Root fist pumps herself at having managed to reduce Shaw to a series of irritated sounds, and takes a gulp of red before replying. “You too! See you soon! Don’t text or write down anything about this. Kay? I’ll fill you in eventually, but for now, ignorance will get you a lot further than knowledge. Bye!”

Root hangs up, imagining Shaw sat there, confusedly holding her phone and pulling that adorable ‘what the fuck’ face she likes to wear. Smugly, Root sits back, congratulating herself.


	9. Shaw's Just Not That Polite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8f16fba)

The hammering on the door wakes Shaw out of a heavy slumber, tendrils of her dream still fill her head as she rolls out of bed, so that she half expects to see Root lying debauched and dishevelled beside her when she glances back. But the black sheets are empty and tangled. 

She’s uncomfortably damp between her legs so she takes a moment to change into some clean boy shorts, yanking a pullover on so her nipples aren’t saluting the world. The knocking pauses for a moment before starting again. 

Even more irritated than usual by the rude awakening, she thunders down the stairs, almost tripping over Zoe's abandoned purse, and yanks the door open, a furious, “What?” on her lips. 

The police officer standing in the doorway gives her a professional once over, not lingering on her very exposed legs, and then consults his notebook. “We’re looking for a Miss Sameen Shaw?” He’s sharp eyed, but with an open, gentle expression on his face. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” Shaw wipes her hand over her face, trying to clear the sleep away. She's usually able to easily shed the remnants of slumber, but today she feels fuzzy and confused, thinking of Root's legs wrapped around her. She shakes her head to dispel the vivid image. “What do you want?” 

“We have a few questions for you regarding an incident on campus last night. Could we come in?” The cop says affably, leaning a broad hand on the door frame. Shaw wouldn't be able to shut the door without crushing his hand, now. She wonders if it's deliberate. 

Shaw scowls. “Yeah. Lemme get some clothes and some coffee. I’ll be five minutes.” She moves back into the hallway and up the stairs, thumbing toward the living room with her back to the officers. “Make yourselves at home.” 

_Well, you weren’t kidding about the cops, were you, Root?_ Shaw takes her time putting on actual clothes and sorting her hair out, then washes her face and heads to the kitchen. She’s not trying to piss the cops off, but she needs a few minutes to wake up and gather her thoughts. She wonders if that’s why they’re here so early. The microwave clock tells her it’s eight am. On a Sunday! She has the faint throb of a headache in her temples, and wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed.

She fills the French press and takes it into the living room with her, three mugs dangling in her other hand. “Hope you take it black.” There actually is sugar and milk in the kitchen, but hey, Shaw’s not that polite, and she only has two hands. Double trips are for losers. 

The two officers haven’t sat down. The short, bald guy she spoke to at the door turns to face her. “Miss Shaw. Thank you for your cooperation. I'm Sergeant Elias, and this is my partner, Officer Marconi.” 

Marconi has a huge scar curving down his cheek from the corner of his right eye, and Shaw looks at it with interest, wondering how he got the injury. He narrows his eyes at her a little, jerks his chin at her face. “What happened to your nose?” 

What? Shaw blinks, confused, and then remembers. “Oh, soccer. Ball to the face.” That explains the headache. She experimentally wriggles her nose, pleased to feel it’s only faintly sore. 

“Did you win?” Elias sits down on the edge of the sofa, and Marconi leans on the wall by the window, looking around. There are a few empty bottles scattered throughout the room, but Shaw is pleased to see at a cursory glance that the place is reasonably tidy excluding the normal piles of student detritus, and a small mountain of discarded takeaway containers precariously balanced next to Harold's computer. She hopes none of them are holding soup. 

“Yep. Four Two. Weather was brutal. So how can I help you?” She pours coffee into the mugs and passes them around, choosing to perch on the arm of the big chair next to the TV that is mostly Harold’s reading chair. It has big, broad arms, and the added benefit of having a clear line of sight across the room and to both doors. For some reason that feels important. 

“Can you tell us where you were between seven and ten last night?” Elias takes a sip of the scalding coffee without any flinch, or sign that it’s hot. 

Shaw smirks and does the same, scalding her mouth with deliberacy, accepting the perceived challenge. “Yeah, I was here. We finished our game at three thirty, then me and my housemates and a few friends came back here, ordered takeaway,” she points at the abandoned pile of containers on the table, “around six. Then I had a little work to do until my friend came over at seven and we, uh, watched TV in my room til just after ten, I think. Then she walked home, and called me after she got back okay.” She adds the last sentence almost as an afterthought, remembering what Root had said on the phone. 

“And your friend’s name?” Marconi is diligently making notes in his little book and Shaw takes a huge gulp of boiling coffee to hide her momentary panic. What’s Root’s real name?

“Root. I mean...” shit, shit, shit. Oh! “Sam Groves.” Thank you, Martine! Shaw feels like a total genius for remembering, but carefully keeps her face blank. 

“And can any of your other friends verify that? What were you watching?” Elias is very relaxed against the sofa, but Shaw can see the hard gleam of intelligence and suspicion in his eyes. 

“We were watching Buffy. I mean, you can check my viewing activity on Netflix if you want. But friends, uh, no. I don’t think so. Root.. Sam. We’re dating, I guess.” She darts her eyes from side to side, hoping they misinterpret her discomfort as embarrassment rather than the fact she’s lying. Stupid Root. She did not give her enough information for this. “She climbed in through the window cause I haven’t told my housemates about her yet.” 

“I see. You do realise that sounds pretty suspicious? You’ve been named as someone with a grudge against Martine Rousseau, who was the victim of a vicious arson attack last night.” Elias sits forward, his face stern. “Miss Shaw, we can’t help you if you lie to us. And we’re going to need all of Miss Groves’ information to confirm what you’re saying.” 

 

 _Goddamit Root, if I am the suspect, not you, shouldn’t I have a better alibi?!_ Shaw is about to respond when Joss swans in, dressed impeccably in a black pantsuit and a tan leather jacket. It might be the most professional look Shaw has ever seen on her, and she blinks, startled. 

“Oh please, Shaw, you guys are so not stealthy. I saw Root go to the bathroom twice, and I’m pretty sure she almost put her foot through Harold’s window on her way up.” Joss smirks at the police officers with a knowing look on her face. “Plus, even before I saw her, I knew she was here. You guys aren’t exactly... quiet. If you know what I mean.” She cocks an eyebrow and extends a hand to Marconi. 

“Jocelyn Carter, fourth year Law. I can vouch for both Shaw and Root’s presence here last night. Do you have any more questions?” 

Marconi shakes her hand after a beat, and Elias looks at her thoughtfully then gets to his feet. “No, that’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything you’d like to tell us, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.” He pulls a card out from his pocket and places it carefully on the table. 

Shaw stays in her seat as Joss shows the cops to the door and gets rid of them, shutting the door behind her and then striding over to Shaw, looking down at her. “If they come back again you’ll need a lawyer. Don’t say anything else to anyone. Martine’s room was filled with fireworks last night, so not really 'arson' even though it had the same effect. They'll probably conclude it was just a prank gone wrong, so don't worry too much.” She gives Shaw a lopsided smile. “But you do owe me.”

“Thank you.” Shaw mutters, but her tone is vehement. She’s dying to text Root, but she knows that she shouldn’t write anything down about the situation, so she thumbs out a quick message. 

//hey, can we talk?//


	10. Do I Have Something On My Face?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** Smut. Slightly kinky if you squint, but nothing dramatic. YET.
> 
> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8f7bbe4)
> 
> Smut marked by horizontal rules

Root checks her phone when she wakes up, and the text from Shaw makes a broad grin spread across her face. She stretches luxuriously as she replies. 

//Breakfast? I’ll make you pancakes//

It’s a few minutes before the reply comes through, and while Root brushes her teeth she pictures Shaw’s face, irritated but interested at the proposition of food. 

//do you have bacon and syrup?//

//lots. 31 Tyler Court. See you in half an hour//

She takes the time to clear up a bit, not that her place is ever really messy. She has a cleaner come in once a week to take care of the hygiene stuff, and apart from the books and cables that seem to follow her like lost puppies, nearly everything else is ship shape. 

She gives the kitchen counter a quick wipe down before loading the dishwasher and then starts on the pancake batter while bacon grills in the oven. Feeding Shaw as soon as she arrives will hopefully put her in a good mood. 

The doorbell buzzes twenty nine minutes after she sent Shaw the address, and Root swipes her in with her mobile without saying anything, letting her figure out how to get to Root’s apartment. As wealthy as she is, Root has invested in fancier living quarters than the campus accommodations and she shares her floor with only six other apartments, it shouldn’t take Shaw long to figure it out. The knock on her door comes only a minute after she lets Shaw in the main door. She must have run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Efficient. 

“It’s open!” She calls cheerfully, flicking a pancake onto the warmer plate she has standing by and checking on the bacon. 

Shaw enters, sniffing the aromas of food. Root sees the brief, pleased expression on Shaw’s face before she can hide it with a scowl. 

“Hey, sweetie. Have a seat.” She points with a sticky spatula at the breakfast bar opposite the oven, and then dishes up a pancake with a prodigious amount of bacon and slides it in front of Shaw as she sits down. 

Shaw narrows her eyes at the greeting but doesn’t reply, stuffing her face with food after drowning her plate in syrup. Root shimmies back over to the stove and finishes with the last few pancakes, popping them in the oven to stay warm after turning it off. She grabs an apple out of her fruit bowl and takes a slow bite, watching Shaw eat with all the intensity of a hunter. 

If it makes Shaw uncomfortable she doesn’t show it, continuing to mow through the food. 

Root piles her plate again without asking and Shaw polishes off four pancakes before sitting back and giving a little burp of satisfaction. When she catches Root’s eyes, Root is staring at her mouth. 

“What, do I have something on my face?”

Root blinks, snapping back to reality. “A little syrup. It’s a good look. Wanna sit in the living room to chat?” She’s been leaning on the counter with her hip, and now she makes her way into the other room without waiting for Shaw to reply. 

The shorter woman slides off the tall bar stool and strides after her, taking in the apartment. It’s relatively devoid of personality, not decorated if you exclude the enormous bookshelves taking up the entire back wall, and the four computer screens Shaw can see, which are currently displaying screensavers of what Shaw can only classify as ‘violent babes’. Mila jovovich in Resident Evil, Michonne from the Walking Dead, Demi Moore in GI Jane, Michelle Rodriguez in She. It seems like Root has a type... But now is not the time.

“So... I asked you for help with blackmail, and you burned down Martine’s house?” Shaw had managed to check the campus news on her mobile on the way over, but there wasn’t a lot of information beyond what Joss had already told her. 

Root plops into a comfy chair with a wicked grin. “Not _down_ , per se. It still has walls and everything. I just set fire to it a bit. It wasn’t that dramatic. But don’t worry about the film. I took care of that, like I said I would. The fire was... mostly for fun.” 

“Fun.” Shaw repeats, then licks syrup off her lips. Root’s eyes flick down to her tongue.

“Yeah, plus I had to break into her place so setting it on fire seemed like a good idea to get rid of DNA evidence and stuff.” She sounds particularly gleeful. 

“I’m not sure that DNA evidence for minor larceny is a thing..” Shaw drawls, looking down as Root crosses her legs, skirt riding up a bit. Root grins in pleasure when she catches the movement and Shaw quickly glances away. 

“Well, either way. She deserved it. And the video’s gone. As for the rest, well, let’s just say I have a lot of data to go through, but when I’m done, Martine is going to jail.”

Shaw blinks, taken aback. “Jail?!” 

Root frowns at her, holding up her fingers and ticking things off. “Extortion, illegal pornography, gambling... did you know she put a LOT of money on you to lose that bout against her? Stalking... I could go on. She’s broken a dozen laws just with you, and I bet I can find a dozen more once I’m done digging.” 

Shaw leans back on the sofa, mind clearly racing. Root realises that somehow she hadn’t managed to frame Martine’s actions in those terms, to realise that what she’d been doing is illegal. Maybe it had always seemed to Shaw like she made a stupid mistake, and was being punished for it. 

Root eyes her questioningly, and then Shaw smiles slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” She pauses, leaning forward and propping her hand on her knee. “And you’re sure, about the tape?” 

“Certain. I used technology the CIA wants for their facial recognition servers. Used her social networks and phone’s GPS history to make sure any computer she’s had access to in the last six months was infected with the worm I wrote. It’s been eaten. The last copy that exists on this Earth is...” Root leans back and grabs something from the bookshelf, throwing it to Shaw. “Here.” At the shocked look on Shaw’s face Root rushes to clarify. “I didn’t watch it! I thought you might want to destroy it yourself. I dunno, like... symbolistically? It’s the original memory card from her video camera.” 

Shaw opens her hand to see the small, blue rectangle, her stomach clenching. “You got something I can burn this in?” 

Root grins then, all sharp bicuspids and flashing eyes. “Of course, Sameen.” She saunters to the kitchen, grabbing a metal mixing bowl and a barbecue lighter along with some fire starter cubes. She arranges them like a little shrine and hands it to Shaw, who’s sitting still, turning the memory card over and over in her hands.

“It’s really over?” There’s something naked in her voice and Root clenches her teeth, squatting down as Shaw places the card on top of the white fuel. 

“It’s over.” 

Shaw flicks the lighter on, and they both watch in silence as dancing flames curl around the blue plastic and it warps and bubbles, hissing green sparks as it’s destroyed. 

When the fire goes out, Shaw looks at Root with words balanced on her parting lips. Root’s eyes flick down, and then suddenly she’s leaning forward, crushing her mouth against Shaw’s and sliding her hands into her hair. Half of her expects Shaw to push her off, but to her shock and pleasure, hard fingers curl around the back of her neck and yank her closer, pulling her against Shaw’s knees. 

* * *

The bowl crashes to the floor, spilling ash and residue, but Root is too busy climbing on top of Shaw on the sofa to notice. Their lips slide together frantically, Root’s teeth scrape Shaw’s lip and the other girl lets out a low moan, running her hand down the ridges of Root’s spine and dragging her in even closer. Root’s knees slot either side of Shaw’s hips and she sucks Shaw’s tongue into her mouth, pulling on it and pressing her thumb into the point of Shaw’s jaw. 

The heat between them expands, flushing their cheeks and necks. When Root pulls back for a moment to yank off her pullover Shaw makes a keening noise in the back of her throat, reaching for her with her mouth and pressing hot kisses to Root’s delicate collar bones. 

Root heaves and shudders under her mouth, worming her hands between them to tug at the button on Shaw’s jeans, fingers fumbling and then finally succeeding, popping them open. The sound of Shaw’s zipper is unbearably loud in the silent room, just their breath in each other’s mouths to soften it. 

Root sits back a little to make room, so she can watch Shaw’s face as she slips her hand below her waist band, cupping her over her undies which are already damp and hot to her touch. She takes in the parted lips and shallow breathing, the pink tinge of her cheeks. 

Shaw gasps as Root touches her, rocks her hips forward while her legs part further, fluttering her eyes open and glaring at Root. “Don’t tease.” 

She’s so sexy, sprawling on the sofa with her lips swollen from Root’s kisses and her cheeks hot, eyes blown wide with desire, that Root can’t deny her. She pushes the pads of her fingers against the soaked underwear firmly, leaning in to swallow Shaw’s sigh. 

She works Shaw like that, just with her hand wedged down Shaw’s jeans, rubbing her swollen flesh and kissing her senseless then sucking marks into her soft throat until Shaw’s breathing comes in fast little pants and her legs are trembling. 

Root drags her hand up, shoves it unceremoniously into Shaw’s underwear and enters her abruptly with two fingers, making Shaw groan. Her own moan shivers through her chest at the feel of Shaw, hot and wet and so tight around her fingers. The angle means the penetration is shallow, but it seems to be enough, and Shaw stiffens, her whole body tense and thrumming. 

Root pinches her nipple hard, bites her bottom lip and grinds the heel of her palm into Shaw’s clit, feeling her muscles grip and try and pull her deeper. She curls her fingers, drives them in and out, and Shaw shatters, muscles unravelling and tensing again, pussy clenching hard around Root’s fingers and Root rubs her gently through it, not pulling out until Shaw collapses weakly against the sofa back. 

Then she frees her hand and lifts it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Shaw cracks an eye and huffs out a breath of air that is almost a laugh. “Freak.” 

Root smirks as she slides off, and Shaw shivers in protest when her oversensitive skin is scraped with fabric while Root makes quick work of yanking her jeans off. Root stays on her knees between Shaw’s legs, kisses the inside of her knee and then drags her tongue up to taste her through the soaked fabric. 

Shaw moans, tensing, and then relaxes into the gentle touch, her hips pushing forward a little. On a hunch, Root methodically digs her nails extremely hard into Shaw’s hipbones, making her yelp, but rewarding Root with a fresh gush of liquid. 

She pulls Shaw’s briefs off, throwing them somewhere over her shoulder and buries her face in Shaw’s pussy, using her hands to pinch hard bruising up and down Shaw’s side, across her stomach, feeling her press into the little bursts of pain. 

It doesn’t last as long as Root would like. Shaw compresses her thighs around Root’s head, cramping her style a bit, but she comes with a loud, breathy cry that has Root smirking around her clit as she gently sucks it. Shaw has to physically pull Root away before she’ll stop pressing her mouth to Shaw’s twitching flesh, and Root wipes the slick off her face, looking at Shaw with satisfaction. 

She’s crumpled boneless against the back of the couch, one hand protectively curled over her pussy, her shirt ridden up so Root can see the soft, reddened skin of her stomach. She leans forward to kiss one of the marks she’s made and Shaw groans, batting weakly at her. 

Root sits back smugly and pulls her shirt and bra off over her head, standing up to take off her skirt. “Do I have to start without you?” 

Shaw squints at her, and then flops sideways, propping her head over the arm of the couch and licking the air suggestively. Root snickers, divesting herself of her underwear and rests one knee on the couch arm, lowering herself onto Shaw’s face. 

Her mouth is hot and wet and soft, pressing against Root in all the right ways. She grabs onto the back of the couch with the first touch of Shaw’s tongue, biting her lip so she doesn’t groan. 

Shaw works her over with just her mouth, sucking on her labia, running broad strokes over her whole pussy and then moving up to rub her tongue against her clit. Root lets her take her time, not in any hurry, and enjoying the sight of Shaw splayed out on the sofa, naked from the waist down. 

After a few minutes Root can feel Shaw’s excitement replacing her orgasm induced lethargy, and hands come up to grab her hips, pulling her closer. “No penetration until I say.” Root commands her in an even tone, breathing out, and not missing the way Shaw gives a low, guttural moan at her controlling tone. She smirks, pushing down and grinding against Shaw’s face. 

She feels her orgasm approaching from miles away, it seems, spreading warm through her stomach and chest, rolling down to her toes and filling her whole body with tension, making her leg muscles quake under the strain of holding herself up. “Inside, Shaw. Now.” 

Obediently Shaw enters her, one finger sliding in easily, swiftly joined by another, and Root tears the fabric on the sofa back with her nails when she comes, juddering in pleasure and throwing her head back, knees weakening. Shaw pulls her forward and she falls onto the sofa, so they’d be sixty nining if Root was doing anything other than coming undone, she groans her pleasure out against Shaw’s damp hip and scrapes her teeth over the bone as her orgasm washes through her. 

Shaw holds her apart with her thumbs and replaces her fingers with her tongue, delicately licking at her soaking folds until another, smaller orgasm flushes Root pink and she arches her back, muscles spasming around Shaw’s tongue. 

* * *

She stays like that, lying on Shaw with bones made of liquid steel, heavy and hot, until a ringing sound interrupts her half-dozing comfort. Shaw groans, squirming out from under her and reaching for her pants, looking for her phone, which Root belatedly realises, is the thing making the annoying noise.

“Yeah?” Shaw’s voice is gravelly with sex and she scratches the curve of Root’s hip idly. 

“Fuck. Yeah. Uh... something came up. I’ll be there in half an hour.” She hangs up the phone, climbing off the sofa.

“I gotta go. Um. Thanks.. for pancakes, and,” she waves a hand in the air, encompassing the sofa and their abandoned clothes.

“Mindblowing sex?” Root smirks, stretching like a cat as she she rolls over, enjoying the way Shaw’s eyes trace down her body. 

“It was alright.” Shaw smirks at her and then her face falls as she picks up her underpants which are sodden right down the crotch. “Fuck.” 

“Go commando?” Root suggests, tripping her hand down her stomach and toying with her pubic hair. “Or stay here with me, thank me some more.”

Shaw grimaces as she steps into her cold, damp briefs. “Tempting, but I have soccer. And I’m already fifteen minutes late.” 

“Worth it.” Root drawls, shuddering as she pushes her fingers into herself, eyes hot and heavy on Shaw. “Sure I can’t persuade you?” 

“Raincheck.” Shaw stuffs her phone in her pocket, heading for the door and yanking her shoes on. 

She’s gone before Root can reply, so she just shrugs and slides her other hand down her body, pinching her own nipples and squirming as she thinks of Shaw’s mouth on her.


	11. Never Have I Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUN FACT- Surprise Finch in one of the Never Have I Ever posts I was looking at for inspiration for less dark and twisted options than my brain automatically comes up with. He was just there! It was awesome, I was so pleased.  
> (http://www.hexjam.com/uk/student/22-excruciating-never-have-i-ever-questions?page=2#content)
> 
>  **Content Warning** Heavy drinking. Minor mentions of: anal, gambling, handcuffs, marijuana use, guns, sex dreams. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8fa5e3a)

Root texts Shaw at lunch time, nothing interesting, just a ‘hey, what’s up’ kinda thing, but Shaw doesn’t reply, and she doesn’t want to be one of those clingy irritating sorts of people, so she squashes her urge to message again and just checks her phone compulsively every forty five seconds instead. 

She almost hacks into Shaw’s social media to see what she’s been doing, but decides at the last possible second that Shaw’s been on the receiving end of a bit too much in the way of privacy invasion recently, and that it’s for the best if she doesn’t add herself to that equation, even stealthily. 

So when nine rolls around and she’s given up on hearing from Shaw, she texts Zoe instead. 

//whatcha guys doing tonight?// 

Gotta love a long weekend, Columbus Day may not be good for much, but if Root has learned anything in her short friendship with Team Machine, a day off classes tomorrow means that they will be drinking heavily somewhere. And, Root’s gonna go out on a limb and say that Zoe is her number one cheerleader when it comes to getting Shaw into Root’s bed. At least, that is what Root assumes from the fact that Zoe definitely tricked her into the Shower Perv incident, as Root is now internally referring to it. 

She’s going through the files the boys brought her on Martine when her phone vibrates.

//getting wasty pants. Wanna come over? I’m kicking everyone’s butt at poker//

Root smirks, the invite was exactly what she wanted, but she likes to think she can claim casual interest if Shaw makes a big deal out of it now. But maybe she’ll just get her raincheck and Shaw won’t be pissed that she’s coming over. Without telling her.

She grabs a large bottle of vodka from her shelf so she doesn’t arrive empty handed, and makes her way across campus. There’s a storm brewing, and the drizzle leading up to it soaks her jacket and beads in her hair despite her umbrella. She takes a second to check her appearance in her cell phone and smooths her hair down before knocking. 

John yanks the door open, slopping beer from his red solo cup onto his hand in the process, and grinning at her. “Root! Nice one, come on in!” 

 

She snickers at him as she passes, and hands him her coat when he helpfully but ineffectively tries to get her out of it, always the gentleman. “Seems like I have some catching up to do...” she remarks wryly.

“Shots! Joss! You have to do shots with Root!” He yells down into the living area, bustling Root toward the kitchen. “She’s sober too, because she just got back!” He is adorably over excited, clearly drunk, and Root feels a sudden rush of affection for him as she slides into the kitchen, holding up her vodka bottle.

“You got glasses?” 

Joss grins at her as she walks in, points at the vodka bottle. “Nice one. The rest of these wasters are hammered, and Zoe has taken all of their money.” 

Root pours them both generous shots into the comically large wine glasses John hands her, snickering as she holds hers up for a cheers. “Classy.” 

They down their drinks making matching ‘ew’ faces, and then Joss grabs a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge, motioning for Root to pour again. They do another shot each before mixing the next one with Pepsi and making their way into the living room. 

Root almost drops her glass when she sees Shaw, unprepared for the heat that rushes through her. Shaw looks great, wearing only a black tank top and short shorts, no bra. Root thinks she can see her nipples through the thin fabric. She tries to keep her reaction off her face as she makes her way to an empty spot on the floor, where the gang is in a haphazard circle. Shaw doesn’t acknowledge her, which Root supposes is better than a punch in the face.

Zoe is sitting cross legged counting scrumpled dollars. Harold makes space for John as he sits down with his long legs framing the smaller man’s body, leaning his weight on one hand. Shaw meets Root’s eyes for a moment, but with a flat, unreadable expression, and Zoe waves her money in the air triumphantly. “Well, what are we gonna do now I’ve cleaned you all out.” 

John reaches over for a six pack, grabbing a new can and popping the top, filling up his drink. “How about “I Have Never?”

Harold shoots Root an amused look, and Zoe grins like a Cheshire cat. “John, you are a genius. All those people saying you’re a meathead are clearly wrong!”

“Hey, who calls me a meathead?” John looks genuinely hurt, and Harold shifts to look at him with his eyebrows raised. 

Shaw puts her hand up. “I call you a meathead all the time,” she points out in a mild tone.

“Yeah, but to my _face_!” 

“I don’t think you’re a meathead,” Root folds her legs under her and Zoe leans on her shoulder companionably for a moment.

“A pretty meathead. But not a meathead tonight! Never Have I Ever! A spectacular idea. If I cannot take your money, I will take your secrets!” She does a passable evil laugh, and then raises an eyebrow when Shaw hits her on the thigh. “What? You think Bad Horse doesn’t work on his whinny?”

Shaw groans, taking a swig of her beer and pointing at Harold. “You shouldn’t have let her watch that show. Also, you go first. It was your meathead boyfriend’s idea, and I blame you.” Root might be imagining things, but she thinks that a faint look of interest crossed Shaw’s face when Zoe mentioned secrets, glancing at Root through her eyelashes. The thought that Shaw want’s to know more about her pleases her.

Harold shifts awkwardly as the attention of the circle falls on him, and then shrugs a shoulder. “Uh, okay. Never have I ever....” He looks around and then at Joss and smirks. “Taken someone’s virginity.” 

Joss rolls her eyes at him and takes a drink, as do Zoe, Shaw and Root. Harold looks smug for a moment, and then John leans back and whispers something to him and Harold’s face changes to taken aback. “Does that count?” 

“If you have to ask, then whatever it is definitely counts! Is it anal? It’s anal, isn’t it!” Zoe proclaims excitedly, leaning forward to cheers John who is now the only person who didn’t have to drink. Harold groans and takes a mouthful of beer, and John taps his lip in thought, but before he can start talking there’s a knock at the door. 

Shaw scrambles up and opens it, then is followed by a chubby, curly haired guy with a six pack in each hand. “I brought beer!”

“I text Fusco!” John announces like he’s just remembered, and then he grabs the vodka bottle and waves it at the new guy, who takes it awkwardly and sits down on the edge of the sofa, close to the circle. “Drink three shots, Fusco, and we’re playing I have never.” 

Shaw ‘helps’ Fusco to down enough vodka, straight from the bottle, that he chokes and sputters, while Root looks on with an amused smirk, and then John pipes up again. “Never have I ever... shaved off all my pubes.” 

Harold blushes beet red and takes a swig, Shaw raises her glass and then pauses, looking at John. “Oh, technical fail. Shaving and waxing are not the same thing!” Zoe snickers and everyone joins in as John’s face falls, realising no one else is going to drink. 

Root taps her fingers on her glass while she thinks, looking around at the group with a smirk. She likes this version of the game, where clearly most people in the circle know each other well enough that they’re just fucking with each other, giving them all an excuse to drink. She doesn’t know much about them, though. Yet. “Never have I ever... broken someone’s nose.” 

John and Shaw both drink, Shaw somehow managing to roll her eyes at the same time, mumbling, “glad I don’t have to drink for every time,” with a smirk.

“Never have I ever been in handcuffs,” Zoe proclaims, and Root snickers, taking a big gulp with a wicked grin. Shaw drinks as well, meeting Root’s eyes, heat flashes between them, they don’t even notice that no one else drinks, merely exchanges amused glances at their expense. 

Joss pretends to think for a moment and then smirks, “Never have I ever thrown up on anyone.” To Root’s entertainment, everyone drinks except for her. 

Shaw stretches her legs out into the circle, leaning back on one hand and letting her beer hang loosely from the other, resting on one thigh. She doesn’t look away from Root, “never have I ever set someone’s room on fire.” She says dryly, and Root laughs, lifting her glass and tilting it at Shaw then finishing her drink. 

Fusco sits forward, shock on his face, “That was you? You’re fucking crazy!” He sounds both impressed and afraid, and Shaw leans back to glare at him.

“I forgot you were here. Say anything, and I’ll castrate you. Okay?” 

Fusco raises his hands in self defence “Okay, okay! Jeez, you guys are all cuckoo, you know that?” 

Shaw smirks, saluting him with her glass. “And don’t you forget it. It’s your go.” 

Fusco dithers for a moment and Root takes the opportunity to pour a new drink. She’s not worried about Fusco, she’s 99% sure no one saw her on her little mission, and from hacking into the police report she knows they don’t have anything to go on besides Martine claiming Shaw holds a grudge against her. Plus, I Have Never seems unlikely to hold up in Court as a confession. 

She’s snapped out of her musings by Fusco finally taking his turn. “Never have I ever smoked pot.” The entire circle raises their glass almost simultaneously, and then they snicker and cheers each other. 

Harold gives an evil grin and looks at Shaw, “Never have I ever had to be cut out of a car by the fire department!” She throws a cushion at him, but it hits John, and she grumbles as she takes a drink.

“You have to tell the story cause you’re the only one drinking!” Zoe points out, but Root raises her drinking hand.

“Uh, actually. Me too.” 

“Seriously, what are the chances? Damn, that’s a funny story. Shaw got her leg stuck when this guy was eating her...” the rest of the sentence is muffled as Shaw handily gags Zoe, piling on top of her and they roll around for a moment before Shaw gets her into a submission hold and Zoe taps the ground.

Shaw looks equal parts irritated and smug as she gets back up. “Two people drink, no story.”

“Aw, that sounded like a _fun_ story. Maybe we can reenact it later.” Root drawls, sliding her finger around the lip of her glass and looking right at Shaw, who swallows audibly. 

John looks back and forth between them like he’s at a tennis match, and then declares with an attitude of complete triumph, “I have NEVER made out with Shaw!” Pointing at Root with his drink he pumps it in the air when she drinks. “Yes! I knew it! She’s all... weird with you. Has anyone else noticed that Shaw _touches_ her? Root! You gotta tell the story!” He sniggers to himself looking pleased, and Root looks at Shaw from under her eyelashes a little embarrassed and worried about Shaw's reaction. She's pleased to see that Shaw doesn’t look any angrier than usual. 

Zoe breaks in before Root can decide what to say. “Actually, I drink too.” She declares, and Shaw puts her head in her hand but doesn’t argue it, while Joss hoots and giggles. Zoe takes a mouthful of her drink.

Root decides to steer the game in a tamer direction for a moment to give herself some breathing space, although she is massively curious about Shaw having made out with Zoe. “Never have I ever shot a gun.” Everyone drinks apart from her, Harold and Zoe, and she looks around, then shrugs. “Yeah, that’s actually not that surprising.”

Zoe pours herself a vodka Pepsi and wriggles around so she’s kneeling up, glaring around the circle like she’s looking for inspiration. “Never have I ever...” She pauses dramatically, “fantasised about anyone in this room!”

“That’s hardly fair,” Harold grumbles as he takes a big drink, John joining him. Root makes sure Shaw is looking her way when she drinks, tipping her head back to display her long neck and taking a deep swallow, but Shaw doesn’t drink, just smirks at her. 

Joss raises her glass to her lips and then stops, looking thoughtful. “I need a ruling.”

“What is your query, my child?” Zoe drawls, turning to her and fluttering her eyelashes.

“Does it count if you were asleep?” Joss might actually be blushing, but it’s hard to tell in the low lighting. She sounds a little like she’s blushing to Root. Out of the corner of her eye she notes Shaw shift uncomfortably, eyes darting to Root and then down to her drink.

“Hmm, like a sexy dream? Tell me more!” 

Joss hits her halfheartedly and takes a swig of beer. “If you’re going to be a shit about it, I’d rather just drink. And since I don’t have to tell my story, there’s nothing you can do.”

Zoe leans forward, gripping Joss’s cheek and looking deep into her eyes, then she smirks cheekily. “Oh, it was totally Shaw.”

“How did you.. I mean...no. Gross” Joss flails, and Shaw cackles, leaning over and running her hand up Joss’s leg.

“Oh, Joss, I had no idea! Take me to bed!”

“No, get off, argh!” Joss extricates herself from between the two laughing girls and takes a seat next to Fusco. “Never have I ever had anything in my ass!” She looks pointedly at Shaw and Zoe who both give a shit eating grin and drink. 

Harold and John exchange a smirk and drink too, and then Harold gets to his feet. “And on that awkward yet erotic note. I’m going to bed.”

“With me!” John declares gleefully, clambering up and sliding his arms around Harold’s waist. Harold huffs, annoyed but affectionate, and they retreat down the corridor, talking in slightly slurred voices. 

Fusco holds up his beer in question, and the girls exchange glances and then shrug, nodding. Bottles are handed around and cracked. The game continues, and Root finds herself staring at Shaw, at her mouth when she speaks, or drinks. More often than not, Shaw looks back at her and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, heat, maybe. Or anger. Hard to know. Either way, Shaw doesn’t make any motion toward her, or give her any signals, so Root tries to control herself a bit. She’s pretty tipsy, and may not be doing a wonderful job of it.

Eventually they run out of beer and Root gets unsteadily to her feet, feeling the effects of the alcohol she’s consumed making the room swoop. Checking her phone she sees it’s almost two am. “Well, kids, it’s been fun.” She glances out the window, and winces when she sees the pouring rain. The sky flashes with lightning as she watches, and she wrinkles her nose in distaste, sighing.

“You can’t walk home in that.” Zoe slides a warm arm around around her waist and leans her head on her shoulder. 

“She’s right. You can take the couch. It’s a pullout.” Shaw’s voice is rough, and she hesitates in the doorway. “But I have some questions for you first. Come up with me for a minute.” 

 

Unable to read her tone, Root cocks her head and looks at her, then figures the other girl must have more questions about the precautions Root took when breaking into Martine’s. She makes to follow her, but Zoe grabs her wrist, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Good luck.” before releasing her with a smirk. 

Root’s nerves sing as she follows Shaw up the stairs for the second time, hearing Joss and Zoe giggling in the living room behind her.


	12. Do You Want To Be Friends, Or Do You Want To Fuck?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning** Smut. Light bondage, voice domination, mentions of kink, mentions of knifeplay
> 
> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_8fdb03c)
> 
> Smut marked by horizontal rules

Shaw motions Root into the room and kicks the door shut behind her, leaning against it and trying to keep a neutral expression. Root raises an eyebrow and wanders to the bookcase, clearly perusing the titles.

Shaw watches her, marshalling her thoughts, and then runs her hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m confused. Do you want to be friends, or do you want to fuck?”

Root turns to face her, holding a copy of Harry Potter with a smirk on her face. Shaw kind of wants to punch her. “I had no idea the two were mutually exclusive.”

Exasperated, Shaw grabs her muddy water bottle from her kit bag just to have something to do with her hands while she replies. “Well, here’s you... Coming over. Hanging out like we’re buddies. But.. all... sexy. Trying to seduce me. Like you want us to be girlfriends. I don’t do girlfriends”

Root laughs, and Shaw’s hands tighten involuntarily, squeezing the plastic bottle out of shape. “Oh, sweetie. I'm not trying to be your girlfriend.” She doesn’t look like she’s lying, Shaw thinks. “I don’t wanna change the way you live your life. But yeah, there are some things I do want. I want to...fuck your brains out. I want to feel you come undone on my tongue. Tie you up and make you beg. And yeah, maybe even eat food in the same place sometimes. I like watching you eat.”  
There’s unmistakable innuendo in her sugary drawl, it sends hot heat skittering down Shaw’s spine to tingle in her belly, and she swallows involuntarily, eyes flicking toward the bed, remembering the hot mess she woke up in that morning.

But she takes a deep breath, gets control over herself. “I know I owe you, or whatever. We can fuck. I just...” She hates trying to explain herself, her lack of empathy and connection. All the things that make her a shitty partner, that have resulted in the destruction of everyone who has ever tried to be with her. But she’s cut off by Root’s face, which is suddenly soft and shocked, her mouth open. As Shaw watches, her lip trembles, and she sucks it into her mouth, biting it hard enough that Shaw can see the flesh redden.

“Oh, God. Oh, _no_ , Shaw. You don’t _owe_ me anything. Jesus.” She presses her hand to her forehead, covering her eyes. “I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t realise you.. I thought you... fuck. I have to go.”

“What?” Shaw drops the bottle, taking half a step towards Root, totally confused and hating the raw emotion she can see on Root’s face.

Root drops her hand and looks at Shaw with such naked pain on her face something twists uncomfortably in Shaw’s belly. Root takes a deep breath, her hand is shaking at her side. “I thought you were interested in me, too. I didn’t... You don’t _owe_ me sex. That stuff I did wasn’t just a way to get in your pants. I’d have done the same for anyone. I didn’t mean to...”

Oh. _Oh_. Shit, Root clearly thinks that Shaw just fucked her because she did her a favour, or worse that she pressured her into it. Shaw struggles for words, hating how difficult it is to articulate. “No! I mean, I was.. I am. Interested. I didn’t fuck you ‘cause of that stuff. Well, maybe a bit, but only ‘cause it was super hot. I mean, you set fire to her bedroom for me.” Shaw tries to keep her tone light, not sure really where things went from her trying to explain that relationships didn’t really work for her to Root thinking she was manipulating Shaw into sex, but she doesn’t like it.

Root almost falls back against the bookcase, relief spreading over her features. “Yeah?”

Shaw chews over her words for a minute, trying to figure out how to make her point clear without making Root pull that devastated face. “Yeah. I mean, there’s obviously something,” she gestures between them, “here. Even John figured that much out, and he is not the sharpest crayon in the box. But I’m not into dating. I don’t wanna be tied down. Well... figuratively speaking.” Her mind flashes to her dream again, Root ziptying her to a chair and leaving burn marks scattered down her chest like red stars. She shivers.

Root watches her for a long moment, silence filling the room. Slowly, she seems to recover her poise. She licks at her bottom lip, Shaw can see her tongue comes away red, she’s bitten it so hard she’s bleeding. Need clenches like a fist deep in Shaw’s belly. She doesn't try and keep it from showing in her face.

“But you do wanna fuck?” Root stalks toward her, all trace of the wild emotion and panic she was showing before erased, replaced by something Shaw can only describe as predatory. She stops a pace in front of Shaw. “And you like it when I tell you what to do?”

Shaw’s pretty sure Root knows the answer to those questions already, but she swallows and forces herself to nod, almost imperceptibly.

“Good. On your knees.” Shaw’s heart suddenly feels too big for her chest, heat expanding through her torso, setting her on fire in the best possible way. She’s kneeling before she has a conscious thought about it, something in Root’s tone snapping right through her to her core, to where she lives. She shivers, looking up at Root and knowing her eyes are big and her face feels flushed.

Root smiles down at her, touches her face delicately, runs a fingertip across her brow and down her jaw. Shaw shudders, eyes fluttering, skin tingling in the wake of Root’s touch. “I need you to know something, Sameen. Before we do this.” Her tone is even, not commanding as it was a moment ago but clear and concise. The fingertips under her jaw tilt her chin so Shaw is looking right in Root’s whisky coloured eyes.

She waits, not sure if she should say something, unconsciously leaning into Root’s touch. “I need you to know that I will hurt you,” nails pinch hard into her cheek, making her flinch and her eyes water. There'll be marks in the morning. Root keeps speaking after the burst of pain has subsided and Shaw's adjusted to it, her breath hitching, “but only if you want me to,” the grip finally gentles, soothes. Shaw’s mouth is dry and she swallows thickly. “I will make you bleed. Make you beg. Make you feel. so. good...” Root takes her face in both hands, one thumb brushing along Shaw’s lower lip. “But I will never take advantage of you. I will never break the trust you’re giving me. And I will always listen to you.”

Shaw can hardly breathe, something pressing in on her chest, and Root suddenly squats down, so they’re at eye level. She doesn't release Shaw’s face, cupping her cheek. “Okay?”

The earnest look on Root’s face does all sorts of twisty things to Shaw’s insides. She’s not sure what she’s feeling, unable to sort through the tangled physical reactions to emotions she can’t process properly, but she knows she wants this. Wants Root to keep looking at her like that. To do the things she promised.

She nods, but Root cocks her head, clearly wanting her to verbalise, and Shaw has to swallow again before she can. “Okay. Yes.” She bites back the word that wants to follow, the ‘please’ that’s on the tip of her tongue.

Root looks at her for a moment longer, searching her eyes, and seems to be satisfied, standing back up. “So, safe word? Safe words?” She deliberately unbuckles her belt with slow, slick movements. Shaw can’t take her eyes off the sight of the leather sliding through the loops as she pulls it off.

Her mind is a total blank, she can’t think of anything except her hyper sensitive skin, and Root steps forward carefully, belt in her hands. “Sameen?”

“Red, yellow, green.” The generic, basic safewords are the only ones Shaw can think of right now, even though she knows she’s used other ones. But her entire brain seems to be short circuiting, her breath coming in short, hasty pants.

* * *

Root steps around her, Shaw wants to turn and look, but makes herself stay still, her knees starting to feel the pressure of the hard floor. She carefully unfolds her clenched fists and lays her hands palm down on her bare thighs, waiting. Root hasn't told her not to move, she doesn't have to. Shaw feels her command in every cell of her body.

The hands on her waist make her jump, even though she knew something had to be coming. Root strips her out of her tank top in slow, deliberate movements, grazing the skin of Shaw’s sides and backs with her knuckles and leaving goosebumps in her wake. Her torso naked to the room, her nipples harden immediately, and Root hums in approval against Shaw’s neck, making her pulse jump and her breathing hitch.

The ache in Shaw’s chest has turned into a steady glow in the base of her belly, the buzz of the alcohol she’s consumed almost a distant memory in the wake of the new sensations. Root strokes her hand down Shaw’s back, making her arch, and then presses a soft kiss to Shaw’s shoulder.

Root makes her wait, stays behind her barely touching her, until Shaw is a shimmering mass of nerves. Finally, finally her hands are pulled around to her back, and she feels the harsh skim of leather dragging over her sensitive skin. It’s almost orgasmic, already, her body humming in its wake. The touch winds around her wrists and hands, then up to her elbows and the belt is buckled together somewhere in the middle of her forearms, binding her very effectively and somewhat uncomfortably with her shoulders pulled back. By the time Root’s done restraining her, taking her time, Shaw has soaked her shorts. She can feel the slick on her inner thighs, the insistent pulse of her throbbing clit, desperate already for some friction.

Root moves closer behind her, bracketing her calves. She can feel the drag of Root’s jeans against her bare skin. Hands trip up her sides, stopping to brush over her nipples too gently, and Shaw makes a sound in the back of her throat, muscles aching from being so tense.

Warm skin pushes against her back and she sighs, leaning into the soft touch. Root’s taken her shirt off, and her naked breasts drag against Shaw, making her shudder. “I’m not going to hurt you, tonight, Sameen.”

Shaw moans in protest, leaning back further and arching her back. Root hums and bites the soft skin of her shoulder gently. “We’re too drunk. I’ll hurt you tomorrow. Tonight I’m just gonna pull you apart.” Shaw’s eyes close and she obeys the soft touches of Root’s hands, leaning her head back to rest on Root’s shoulder, some of her weight supported by the slight woman.

Fingers drag patterns down her sensitive stomach, making her muscles jump and shiver. She can feel Root’s hot breath on her neck. Root plays her like a violin, pinching her nipples too gently, scraping her skin too lightly, running hands down her sides and up her thighs, but never touching her aching centre.

A nail pushes into the base of her jaw, right in the sweet spot, and she flutters her eyes open, staring at the ceiling, hearing the blood rush in her ears. “Do you like knives, Sameen?” Root’s voice is husky and raw, clearly touching Shaw is having a serious effect on her as well.

The nail drags down, scraping over her jugular and down her throat to her sternum. Shaw feels like it’s a knife, she can imagine the pressure of the blade, the blood that will spring up behind it. A little choking cry bursts out of her when the nail scrapes over her aching nipple, and it’s with complete shock that Shaw realises she’s on the edge of an orgasm, her inner muscles clenching on nothing and her whole body trembling.

Root’s hand closes gently on her throat, not cutting off air or blood, just resting, and then the other hand slides down her pants and pinches her clit, and Shaw comes. She collapses against Root, waves of sensation arcing up her body, lightning through her spine.

Root holds her in the cradle of her arms until she’s done, limp and sweaty. She manages to open her eyes after a moment, and sees Root looking down at her with an expression of complete fascination that brings a faint grin to Shaw’s face.

A thumb smooths over Shaw’s lip and makes her shiver, then Root is urging her up and undoing the belt wrapped around her arms. She drops it on the floor, leading Shaw to the bed. Shaw leans up to steal a kiss while Root fumbles with her jeans, and Root obliges happily. The air changes, the energy between them changes, and instead of Root guiding her with her voice and body, they’re just pressing against each other needily, making out and falling on to the mattress with Shaw on top.

She straddles Root, licking up her neck and sucking on her earlobe, then obeying the hand in her hair that tugs and pulls, guiding their mouths back together. Root's lips are soft and hot, Shaw can taste the echo of copper, but mostly just Root, sweet and wild. Root groans quietly when Shaw brushes her nipple, and Shaw wants her to make that noise again, wants to pull sounds out of her and make her fall apart.

She kisses her way down Root’s body, sliding onto the floor, looking up at Root from between her legs as they struggle to pull Root’s jeans down. She’s wearing skimpy little black undies and Shaw can smell her, it makes her mouth water. She bites down on the soft flesh of Root’s inner thigh, making her squeak and her eyes darken.

Root nods, winding her hands back into Shaw’s hair and Shaw closes her mouth over Root’s underwear, over her pussy, compressing the fabric against Root’s tender skin with her tongue. Root shivers and pushes into her touch, arching her back and throwing her head back. Shaw watches her, mouthing against the black material, enjoying the way Root looks, splayed out. Her small, high breasts are pointed at the ceiling, and Shaw reaches up for one, dragging her fingertips over the soft flesh as she sucks at Root through her panties.

Soon the underwear becomes more trouble than it’s worth, although Root is clearly enjoying the sensation. Shaw wants to taste her properly. She pulls the offending piece of fabric off, leaving it around one of Root’s ankles and leaning in to swipe at her with her tongue.

Root tastes divine, and Shaw goes to town, indulging herself. She pushes her tongue as deep inside as she can, massaging with it and feeling Root’s muscles clench and pulse around her. She wants to fuck her, but doesn’t know if she’s allowed, so she slides her hand up under her chin and rubs her knuckles teasingly against Root’s opening in question.

The groaned “yes,” makes it pretty clear, and Shaw wastes no more time in sliding her middle finger into Root’s wet heat, dragging the pad against her inner walls. She’s so soft and welcoming Shaw’s clit throbs in appreciation, and she pulls back so she can work in another finger, moving her mouth up to Root’s clit and taking long, slow licks at it.

When she sucks the sensitive flesh into her mouth she can feel how close Root is on her fingers, so tight she can barely move. Root's stomach is clenched and tight, her nipples in hard points and she's staring at Shaw with this intense, devouring gaze that makes Shaw feel naked in a whole different way than she actually is. She has to close her eyes to escape it, rubbing at her G spot firmly and sucking and licking her clit until Root jackknifes, groaning Shaw’s name as her shoulders leave the bed and her pussy muscles clench and spasm around Shaw’s fingers as she works her through it.

* * *

Root cards her fingers through Shaw’s hair as she comes down, and Shaw rests her face against Root’s warm thigh, staying on her knees without thinking about it, waiting for Root.

Eventually, Root tugs her up gently and Shaw climbs into the bed, licking the taste of Root off her lips. Root curls into her side, pressing her face against Shaw’s neck, and Shaw just lies ther and lets her for a while, until she starts to feel a little trapped, a little overwhelmed.

Her chest feels tight when she sits up, and Root looks up at her in question, orgasm flushed and dishevelled. Her pale breasts look so delicate Shaw wants to lean down and press her mouth against them, but she doesn’t. “Uh, there’s sheets and pillows in the hall closet.” Root blinks at her sleepily, not understanding, and Shaw hastens to clarify. “For the pullout bed.”

She sees the shutters come down in Root’s eyes, and an invisible hand closes on her stomach, squeezing hard, but she doesn’t know what it is, or what to say to make it go away, she needs space to think.

Root looks at her for a long moment, and then nods, slithering out of the bed. “Do you have something I can sleep in?” She turns away from Shaw, gathering up her clothes, and Shaw is glad of the excuse to stop looking at her fragile back.

She grabs a pair of boxers and a shirt out of her pyjama drawer and hands them over to Root, who pulls them on with stiff movements and then makes to leave the room. She hovers in the doorway for a moment, licks her lower lip. “Goodnight, Shaw.” and then shuts the door behind her.

Shaw sits down heavily and wonders why it hurts, and at which point she stopped being Sameen.

 

amazing fan art by [@sapphicteaparty](http://sapphicteaparty.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In good news, I have written enough that I'll be posting over the weekend! Though not as early. :)


	13. (MVP) Zoe Wet The Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_900b4e1)

There’s a weird pain in Root’s chest as she trudges down the stairs, feeling wrung out, borderline hungover, and pretty rejected. She tries not to feel that way, Shaw made it very clear that she wasn’t in the market for a relationship, and clearly equates passing out next to each other as outside of her comfort zone. Which is reasonable, Root tells herself. She’s not going to push for more than Shaw’s willing to give. Having her at all is enough. Is practically a miracle.

She gets to the living room with an armful of blankets, and is about to dump them on the couch when a note pinned to it catches her eye. She balances the stuff in one arm and pulls the note clear of the couch fabric.

“Hi Root. I am so sorry, but I appear to have accidentally spilled water all over the pullout. You can’t possibly sleep in it. If Shaw won’t let you join her in that enormous bed, my room is second on the left. I am always the big spoon. I snore, and I kick. Zoe” in different, nicer handwriting underneath it says ‘Tell Shaw to let you crash with her or we’ll kick her ass’- JC

Root lets out a sound that isn’t really a laugh. The bed is soaked, she sees now. Zoe’s meddling had been pretty endearing up to this point, but at this moment in time, Root doesn’t want to see Shaw until she’s sorted out her feelings. And sobered up. She considers going straight to Zoe’s room, but she has a strong feeling that Zoe would drag her into Shaw’s room anyway, and that sounds painfully awkward. She checks out the window, but the storm is, if anything, worse. The ground looks swampy and dangerous and she can see the trees being whipped back and forth by the heavy wind and rain.

She weighs up her options, and then settles into Harold’s large chair, pulling the blanket over her and trying to get comfortable, thinking about Shaw. It’s like she’s fighting with herself, Root thinks. Like she doesn’t know what to do with her emotions so she just shoves them away, comfortable with sex because she understands that, but Root knows there’s something more than sex between them, something that’s getting even more intense now that sex has been added to the equation. She hasn’t stopped thinking about Shaw for days, weeks maybe. She chews over the interactions they’ve had so far, trying to figure out what she should do.

The time passes uncomfortably, Root dozes in and out of an unpleasant sleep, struggling to find a position that doesn't make her back scream in protest after a few minutes.

A noise makes her look to the doorway, a shadow, and then Shaw steps into the room, looking at her curiously. “What are you doing over there?”

“Zoe wet the bed.” Root rubs her eyes tiredly, shifting in the too small seat.

“What?” Shaw’s face draws together into a look of adorable confusion, and Root replays her sentence.

“Oh, she spilled water on it. I assume on purpose.” She points at the the note resting on the floor, and Shaw picks it up, reading it. Root wants to ask what she’s doing downstairs, but holds her tongue.

Shaw walks into the kitchen and Root hears the tap, then gulping noises. Shaw comes back into the living room holding her water bottle and swiping droplets off her mouth with the other hand. It takes Root a solid minute to wonder why she didn't use the tap in the bathroom, upstairs. Shaw pads back through the living room toward the stairs.

Root sighs and settles back down, trying to fit her long legs over the arm of the chair.

“Are you coming?” The voice floats back from the hallway, and Root just about slides onto the floor in surprise. She chews her lip as she slides off the seat, leaving the blankets in a heap and picking her way through the bottles scattering the floor. Shaw is already in bed by the time she gets there, a single, small light on by the bed. Shaw has an arm thrown over her eyes. “Get in, then.”

Root can feel her heart pounding as she carefully slides into the bed, making sure not to touch Shaw. They lie there very stiffly for a few moments, the atmosphere laboured and awkward, and then Shaw groans, rolling to the side and propping herself up on her elbow.

“How are you so good at sex and so terrible at everything else?” She asks bluntly, poking Root in the chest.

“What? You’re the one who’s all terrible at everything!” Root feels quite indignant at the accusation, and then smirks a little when she realises what Shaw said first. “Although thanks for the compliment.”

“Huh? Oh. You’re welcome. But that is not the point. You’re all... psychic when it comes to fucking me. And then everything goes weird.” Shaw looks away as she says this, and Root has to physically restrain herself from leaning over and sucking Shaw’s pouting lip into her mouth.

She thinks for a while before answering, hyper aware of how close they are to each other. Shaw eventually looks back and makes a ‘well?’ face, so Root tries to find the words she wants. “When you look at me and you’re thinking about fucking, it’s easy. I can see what you want in your eyes, in your face. What you need.” She can’t keep the trace of heat out of her voice in the last word. “When you want me, you show me. And then after you shove me away. Which is fine. But it’s you that’s pushing me back, so it’s not really fair to blame me for not knowing what to do with you. I’m just trying to.. I dunno. Respect your boundaries or whatever.”

 _Well, that was a terrible explanation_ , Root thinks to herself as she glares at the ceiling like it’s to blame.

“You make me sick.” Shaw says, after a moment, and Root feels the words hit her in the stomach, surprising a small noise of pain out of her, and tears spring to prickle hotly at her eyes, she starts to roll out of the bed, but then Shaw keeps talking. “Not... not gross sick. All jumbled, like, here.” A tentative brush of skin at Root’s wrist makes her jump, and then Shaw takes her hand and places it on her stomach. All Root can think of is how hot Shaw’s skin is through the thin cotton of her shirt, the muscles tensed under her palm. “I don’t like it, but it keeps happening.”

That wasn’t at all what Root expected her to say, and she turns on to her side, leaving her hand on Shaw’s stomach. “What made you feel sick?”

“Your face, when I said about the blankets and stuff.”

Root finds herself idly tracing patterns on Shaw’s stomach, but the other girl doesn’t say anything so she doesn’t stop herself. “And... you invited me back up here, so you’d clearly rather have me stay than feel that way?” Root feels like she is walking in the dark, like the ground underfoot is treacherous and could give way at any moment.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Shaw sounds a bit indignant, like she can’t believe her body would betray her like that, and it surprises a little smile out of Root.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” Shaw demands, eyebrows drawing together.

“Okay. You tell me when I make you feel sick, and we’ll try to fix it. like now. Do you still feel sick?” Root drags her thumb across Shaw’s waistband, feels her breath catch.

“No.” It’s begrudging, and Shaw won’t look at her, but Root grins anyway, the ache behind her ribcage pops like a soap bubble. _Oh, Shaw. You like me!_

__“Good. Go to sleep, Sameen.”_ _

Shaw turns the light out, and Root’s hand drops off her hip because of the movement. She rolls onto her stomach, one arm under her head, and jumps in surprise when Shaw curls up on her side, reaches over and pulls Root’s hip gently until she shuffles closer, tentatively resting her hand back on Shaw’s warm flank. Shaw grunts in approval and they both relax, not pressed together, but touching. The last thing Root remembers before she finally drifts into sleep is Shaw’s hand covering hers _ _._ _

 

__ _ _

__once more amazing fan art by[@sapphicteaparty](http://sapphicteaparty.tumblr.com/)_ _


	14. Vodka Plus Beer, Feel Queer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now available in Mandarin [ Here ](http://sailorlf.lofter.com/post/1cd7d055_90abce1)
> 
> Smut marked by horizontal rules (it's vanilla though)

The first thing Root is aware of when she wakes up, is the body pressed against her side with a hand down inside her waistband, cupping her buttcheek. The second thing, when she moves her head less than a centimetre, is that she is massively hungover. 

She groans, screwing her eyes shut against the hammering in her temples, and wills the sudden wave of nausea to subside. The hand on her butt squeezes and then withdraws, and she hears Shaw mumble, “shut up,” as she rolls over.

“‘M dying,” Root complains, burying her face in the pillow, and the bed moves as Shaw wriggles around, gets out, and then moments later something hard and small is pressed against her lips. Pills. She wrinkles her face up and reluctantly struggles into a sitting position, taking the pills and a glug of water from the bottle Shaw offers her. “Urgh, this tastes like mud!” Root huffs as she slides back down, the bottle spilling cold drops on her chest. 

“Are you always this much of a lightweight? I didn’t think you were that drunk?” Shaw’s tone is at complete odds with her soft hand smoothing Root’s hair off her forehead, and Root relaxes a little under the touch. It makes her remember what John said, about Shaw touching her, and she wonders if Shaw has ever petted anyone like this before, or if she’s the only one. 

“Vodka plus beer, feel queer,” she mumbles, Shaw’s hand sending delightful little waves of pressure through her tense head.

“I’m pretty sure you were queer before last night. Or was that someone else who fucked my brains out yesterday morning?” Shaw quips, moving her hand away. 

* * *

Root grumbles at the absence, and then warm heat closes over her nipple and she squeaks, opening her eyes. Shaw smirks at her with her mouth wrapped around Root’s nipple, the cotton of her shirt scraping and dragged by her tongue. 

“What are you..? Oh...” Shaw moves to the other breast, pulling up Root’s shirt for better access.

“Distracting you til the painkillers kick in,” it’s mumbled around Root’s hardening nipple, and for the life of her Root can’t remember why she was asking at all. She relaxes into the sensations, bringing her hand up to toy with Shaw’s hair lightly, letting a slow burn of arousal overcome the nausea.

Shaw dandles her fingers across Root’s naked stomach, soothing and gentle. Her tongue is soft and hot as it sweeps over Root’s tender breasts, and soon Root’s hand is wound into her hair tightly, holding her close as her body shifts and arcs slowly on the mattress. The storm must have blown away in the night, because sun streams in through the window, draping over them both. The still quiet of the room fills slowly with Root’s little pants and moans. 

When Shaw finally, finally slides her hands into Root’s shorts, Root gasps her name in a breathy sigh, and Shaw grunts in approval, swirling her fingers softly around Root’s entrance, rubbing her with slow, gentle movements. 

Root lifts her hips up off the bed in unmistakable request, and Shaw slides her fingers into her so carefully Root is filled with a warm sense of wonder at the tenderness Shaw’s showing. She may not be great at verbalising, but the touching feels like a conversation, feels like an agreement.

Shaw wriggles down her body, never stopping the gentle penetration, nipping at Root’s hipbones, Root flutters her eyes open and tries to pull her back up, muttering, “I need a shower,” Shaw just mouths gently against her skin, leaning her head on Root’s stomach, and rubs her thumb over her clit, making her hips surge.

“It’s okay, I’ll stay up top. I want to. Please” Shaw murmurs, kneeling up with lithe movements that don’t jar Root at all, even though she’s still, beautifully, fucking her with slow, soft motions. 

Root can feel her world fuzzing at the edges as Shaw pushes gentle circles into her clit, and stops half-heartedly fending Shaw off, lifting her hips up in agreement when Shaw uses her free hand to pull Root’s shorts off, wriggling around to push them down with her feet as she settles between Root’s legs. 

Her tongue’s like velvet, replacing her thumb over Root’s clit, flat and soft and oh god, just perfect for the sleepy, lazy orgasm Root can feel building deep in her stomach. 

Shaw lets her climb slowly, never pushing. It feels like she goes down on Root for hours, time unspooling in wave after wave of pleasure, finally crashing over Root with all the intensity of an avalanche, leaving every muscle in her body weak and spent. 

Shaw pulls out carefully, shifts up the bed and shoves her hand down her own shorts, gasping a little shuddery breath as she makes contact. Root is too sleepy and groggy to help, but she rolls over, pressing her mouth against Shaw’s neck and murmuring quiet encouragement, dragging her tongue over Shaw’s pulse point and smiling into Shaw’s skin when she comes. 

* * *

She wakes up in the same position some time later, lying against Shaw’s chest, with the shorter girl sprawled out, one arm under Root and the other flung over her face to block out the sun. Root feels much better, but the urgent need of a bathroom clearly isn’t going to go away any time soon, and so she carefully extricates herself and pulls her shorts back on before opening the door. 

When she’s done peeing, and has also utilised an unopened toothbrush she found next to the sink with her name written on it in marker, presumably courtesy of Zoe, she dithers in the hallway. She’s pretty much done sleeping, and while she would love to get back into bed with Shaw and spend the day there, she doesn’t know if that’s the thing to do. Although morning sex does imply that Shaw was, at the very least, okay with their impromptu sleepover. Maybe she should shower?

Before she’s made a decision, the bedroom door opposite the bathroom opens and a fully dressed Zoe grins at her broadly, giving her the once over. “Someone looks like they were put away wet.” She sounds pretty smug, and Root rolls her eyes.

“Maybe I got a shitty night’s sleep in Harold’s chair because some asshole spilled water in my bed?” Zoe grins and points down the stairs with a questioning eyebrow, Root shrugs and follows her down. 

“I’d be way more likely to believe that if you didn’t smell like a lesbians only brothel.” Zoe sounds so cheerful it startles a laugh out of Root. She nods eagerly when Zoe holds up a cup in question. “Shaw still asleep? Did you tucker her out? To think, she’s always going on about how terrible _my_ stamina is!”

Root smirks, seizing the opportunity, “couldn’t keep up with her when you were making out?” 

Zoe fumbles the mug, but recovers quickly, rattling drawers as she puts the water on. “Eh, I coulda kept up. But as it turns out I’m just not super into vajayjays. Who knew?”

“I could have told you that,” Root says, amused, “But I hear ya. I kissed a boy once. It was gross. Never actually had the urge to touch a penis. Well, not one with a blood supply.” 

Zoe laughs, flicking her eyes to the door and back to Root, pouring coffee into three mugs. “I think you’re good for Shaw.”

“I was able to pick up on that thanks to all your subtle hints,” Root says dryly, pointing at the sofa bed in the living area. 

Zoe chuckles. “Well, I take a very hands on approach. She’s been different with you right from the beginning, I thought it was worth helping along. Martine really fucked her up, though. Don’t let her scare you off by being a little shit. She’s worth sticking around for.”

Root carefully picks up two of the mugs, making for the door to the hall, “honestly, Zoe, I don’t think I could let it go if I wanted to...” 

Zoe salutes her with her mug, and Root trundles back upstairs. 

A sleepy Shaw accepts the coffee gratefully, and she flicks an episode of Buffy on while they drink it, making Root laugh. They hear the door slam after a while, but sit in companionable silence, shoulders not-quite-touching on the pillows. The tension that strummed between them before seems to have settled into some kind of silent agreement, and while Root’s not convinced they won’t have to eventually do more talking at some point in the near future, she’s pretty happy with the lack of stress she feels, just sitting and watching a show together. 

A hard knock disturbs them from their comfort, and Shaw grumbles as she gets to her feet. “At least if it’s the cops again you being here reinforces our alibis,’ she jokes, heading down to answer the door. Root pauses the show, waiting for Shaw to come back, and then hears raised voices.

Curious, she leaves the bedroom and pads down the stairs. The front door is wide open, and she can hear a woman, not Shaw, yelling in the living room.

“You fucking bitch. You took it, didn’t you. Did you see her? Did you see Claire?”

It takes her a long moment to absorb what her eyes tell her when she turns the corner. She can’t make sense of what she’s seeing. 

The angry looking blonde. 

Shaw on her knees with her hands behind her head. 

The _gun_ shaking in Martine’s hand.

Pointed right at Shaw’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNN


	15. Her Fists Are Weapons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Gun violence, canon typical violence, major character injury, abusive language, drama, Martine being the worst

Shaw has never really known panic, not the way other people do. Fear is more of a muted tingle that reminds her that she’s alive than anything to avoid. Her mother always says she’s an adrenaline junkie, and between the full contact martial arts, the occasional underground cage match and the way that pain makes her hot and hard rather than weak and afraid, maybe that’s right. Shaw doesn’t understand the way that other people’s minds can shut down in the face of pressure.

Those differences mean that the sight of Martine in her doorway with a gun inspires the following reactions: anger, curiosity, confusion and calculation, then anger again. Shaw is spectacular at the emotion of anger—it is something she understands on a deep, base level. Her pulse picks up, her breathing deepens slightly, preparing to fight if necessary, but her mind remains clear and cool.

“What do you want?” She tries to keep her tone low and even, her eyes fixed on the black weapon that’s shaking slightly in Martine’s tight grip. The safety is off, and Martine’s finger is on the trigger not the guard.

“What do you _mean_ what do I want? It’s gone! It’s gone, and you took it! I know you took it.” She hisses, the words laden with anger and something deep and dark Shaw doesn’t have a name for. 

Martine takes a step forward, and Shaw automatically retreats, her eyes fixed on the gun. It’s too dangerous to try and take it off her, to be honest Shaw wouldn’t be surprised if the weapon fired accidentally the way it's being held. 

Shaw raises her hands very, very slowly and steps backwards into the living room, lifting her feet carefully so she doesn’t fall over the abandoned bottles from their party. Her mind is racing, but she can't figure out what to do. She can't run, in case Martine shoots her in the back. Maybe she should shout for help? But that might just make Martine shoot her on the spot. She has to wait for an opportunity, a distraction, and try to disarm her. With this in mind, she stands in the centre of the living room, making sure she has space around her feet in case she has to move fast. Martine follows her, wild eyed and snarling. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Martine.” Shaw tries to remember anything she can about talking someone down. She wishes Zoe was here, Zoe would know what to say, she always does. But that's not right, not really. Shaw doesn’t wish Zoe was here because Martine has a fucking gun, and really what Shaw wishes is that she had never answered the door, that she was still upstairs in bed with Root. 

Oh Jesus, Root. If telepathy worked, Root would be calling the police, climbing out the window and getting out of here right now. 

“Get on your knees. You like it well enough down there, don’t you? Are you happy now, Shaw? You’ve ruined everything. You fucking bitch. You took it, didn’t you. Did you see her? Did you see Claire?” Martine gestures with the gun, motioning at the floor. 

Shaw sinks to her knees, feeling the leftover ache of kneeling for a long time last night, in much pleasanter circumstances. And as though her thoughts have brought her, Root is suddenly there in the living room doorway, her face pale and pliant with shock. 

Shaw deliberately doesn’t look at her, keeping her eyes fixed on Martine, willing her not to notice so Root can run, can get out. She can feel awareness of Root humming in every cell in her body, and something in her face must tell Martine she’s there, because the blonde girl half turns, swinging the gun around to point at Root. 

Shaw is halfway to her feet before her brain has finished having the thought, her body reacting without instruction, _neutralise the threat_ , but Martine is too fast, turning, the stock of the gun smashes into Shaw’s face, a supernova explodes in her cheekbone and the floor hits her in the side out of nowhere, like it’s swung up on a pivot. 

Blackness smears her vision and cotton muffles her hearing, the world is an ocean away. Shaw has been hit in the face a lot, in her fairly active life. Fists, the ground, a wall, and, on one memorable occasion, a brass knuckleduster. Nothing has ever, ever felt like the sharp metal corner driving into the delicate bone of her zygoma. It's a roaring black hole full of lightning. She hopes she hasn’t lost an eye, she hopes Root has run. Please let her have run. 

Delicate hands are touching her face, someone leaning over her in a shadow, dark hair. Root. Her brain clears slowly, too slowly. Martine is waving the gun around shouting about Claire, her voice echoing through the water that seems to have filled the room. 

Root’s fingers are so soft as they trace around Shaw’s cheek, seeming to confine the pain, push it away until Shaw’s back in the room, trying not to throw up, thick little pants of air jarring her rapidly swelling face and stinging her dry throat.

Root catches her gaze, her eyes wide but with something hard as diamonds in there, maybe anger. Or fear. Shaw isn’t good with emotions. Normal people would be scared, now, but Shaw’s just furious. She clenches her jaw to stop the grating in her face from causing her to pass out as she determinedly sits back up, using Root as a ladder. 

“Who is this fucking Claire?” Shaw grinds out, slowly easing her way around Root so the thinner woman is behind her. Something patters on the floor by her knee, and she realises with a kind of detached interest that it’s blood, dripping off her jaw. Her cheek must have split on impact. Facial injuries bleed a lot, hard to know how much damage has been done. She can’t really feel anything specific, just a spreading feeling of heat and tightness. She has no vision at all on her right side, so she tilts her head, keeping Martine front and center in her truncated view of the room.

“Claire Mahoney.” The name doesn’t come from Martine, it comes from behind Shaw, from Root, in a heavy whisper. Shaw’s finding it hard to think past the fuzz in her brain. “Did you kill her?” It’s a tone of dawning realisation, and Martine screams, raising the gun and firing. 

“She lied!”

The bullet whizzes wildly just to one side of Shaw, slamming into the wall behind them. The noise of it leaves printed patterns in Shaw’s ears, and all she can think of is ‘now someone has to call the police’, but Martine’s finger is tightening on the trigger again, and Shaw tries to move but her body feels limp and slow, and then Root _shoves_ her, and she’s sliding sideways but the bullet is already in the air and she feels it more than sees it hit. 

Root jerks backwards, a shocked ‘oh’ on her face as her fingers come up to flutter against the red mouth opening on her chest and she flops backwards, boneless. 

Rage roars through Shaw like an animal and washes away the confusion, the dizziness, and she’s on her feet, sprinting towards Martine. She can feel her teeth bared, snarling, her mouth tastes like copper and Martine swings the gun to cover her but Shaw _knows_ , she knows, that even a bullet won’t stop her because her chest is packed with iron and her fists are weapons, this feeling that fills her ribcage is made of metal and violence and Shaw _will not be stopped_. 

The gun discharges into the ceiling as Shaw shoves the gunhand up, shoulder charging Martine, smashing her over the couch and into the wall. 

Martine’s head collides with an ugly crunch, but it’s not enough and Shaw holds her wrist with one hand and uses the other to smash her back into the hard surface again and again until Martine’s limp and the gun is dropped somewhere and then Shaw stands back, chest rising and falling so violently she doesn’t think there’s enough space inside her for the things that are clawing at her chest. 

Root. 

She’s small and fragile, blood bubbling out of the wound and spreading like an ugly red flower across her right breast. Shaw knows you have to stop the bleeding, so she pulls off her shirt and presses it to the injury, holding it there and talking to Root, who’s so still and so quiet it’s like she’s not even there any more, and that’s not right, because Root is always so alive, so in motion. Her face isn’t supposed to be this empty.

“It’s okay, it’s okay now. Root, wake up, you’re okay. Root, I feel sick. Please wake up.” She presses the already soaking fabric against the cut and looks around for her phone, but they’re all upstairs, and then she hears the sirens and suddenly police officers are surrounding her, are pulling her away from Root and she’s just shirtless, covered in blood with nothing to do with her hands. 

She recognises the bald cop, Elias, as he wraps a coat around her shoulders, and leads her to a paramedic, while Root is loaded into the back of an ambulance, and then Martine is being put in another ambulance and Shaw’s driven to the hospital by the police officers, and all they’ll tell her is that Root is in surgery before they whisk Shaw into her own operating theatre and she counts back from ten so that she will sleep while they put the shattered bits of her cheekbone back together. All she thinks of as the world swims away is the look on Root’s face when the bullet hit her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic. Remember, five more chapters and a sequel. <3


	16. Soppy Fuckers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the deleted scene that lead to Zoe drinking for 'I have never made out with Shaw' in Never Have I Ever is up  
> Check it out here: [Even a Blacklight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5185538).

She wakes up in handcuffs. She knows, because the first thing she tries to do is touch her face, something is brushing against it and she tries to lift her hand, but the movement is aborted by the metal bracelet. For a moment, she can’t figure out what has happened, where she is. She thinks maybe Root has cuffed her to something, but as soon as the thought comes, she manages to peel her sticky left eye open and her vision is flooded by white light and she realises she can’t see out of her right eye, because it’s covered in bandages, and she remembers what happened.

Martine. Root. The gun. Something tight inside her twists sideways like a blade, like a broken rib in the lung, and she wonders how she got hurt there. She doesn’t remember getting hit in the chest. 

There’s a flurry of motion just out of the corner of her eye as she yanks on the handcuffs automatically but then a hand closes gently on her wrist and Joss’s familiar face looms over her.

“It’s okay, Shaw. You’re okay.”

“Fuck.” Shaw groans, her mouth tastes like week old cheese and she has a headache that could murder a moose.

“Exactly. Listen, I only have a minute, I’m not supposed to be in here. Root’s okay, she’s out of surgery and stable. Your cheekbone was in bits but they’ve supposedly stuck you back together, and Root has some fancy pants lawyer who insists on representing you, she says don’t talk to the cops until she’s spoken to you. Zoe is running interference.”

“Mph.” Shaw wrinkles her face up and regrets it as pain wriggles through the bones of her cheek, and Joss looks worried.

“Everyone’s here, okay, just outside. We’ll be in as soon as they let us. We love you.” 

“Soppy fuckers,” Shaw manages to groan, and Joss spins around then the door opens, and she slips out, leaving Shaw confused and achey.

Mumbled voices outside the room are followed by the sound of high heels entering the room, and then an indignant voice. “You’ll uncuff my client immediately. She’s not been charged with anything and I cannot believe you think this is acceptable.”

“Ma’am, she’s a suspect in an attempted homicide.” 

“Unless you’ve already charged her and read her her rights, uncuff her immediately and we’ll need some privacy before she gives her statement, assuming the doctors judge her as fit.”

Shaw’s wrists are suddenly freed, and she wriggles into a sitting position, regardless of the way it makes her head swim, turning so she can actually see the people in the room. A short, well-dressed woman winks at her, and a doctor bustles past both her, and the officer still standing in the doorway with a pained look on his face. 

“I’m Andrea Gutierrez, I’m your lawyer.” The woman says, flicking through something on her smartphone and gesturing that the policeman to leave. He does, although saying something into his radio as he exits.

“More to the point, I’m Dr Chapman, your Doctor. How are you feeling, Sameen?” The businesslike hands of a medical professional gently move her head, a light is shone into her unbandaged eye and she flinches away from the brightness.

“Like I got hit in the face with a bazooka.” Shaw growls, irritated, “how are you my lawyer, what the fuck happened? I’m a suspect in a homicide?”

The Doctor fiddles with things and looks at her chart, and then starts peeling the bandage of her face. Shaw deliberately doesn’t flinch as the sticky tape is tugged free and light floods into her right eye. Not blind, then. That’s definitely something. Everything is blurred, and fuzzy, but the Doctor faffs around and then cool, stinging liquid drips into her eyeball and the clouds clear a bit, leaving Shaw blinking furiously and wincing as the movement tugs at her cheek. The Doctor continues to prod, and then carefully applies new gauze, once again cutting Shaw’s view of the room in half, much to her irritation. 

“A friend of Sam Groves’ has my services on retainer, and judging from the confused information I’m getting from your friends you and she were attacked at your house by Martine Rousseau? Groves is still unconscious, and I was informed by my client to render my services to you in the meantime. As for the attempted homicide, you’re not, not really. Jackass McGee over there doesn’t know his arse from his elbow. The gun’s been recovered and it’s with forensics now, did you touch it? Wait, scratch that, just tell me exactly what happened from the beginning so we can sort out your statement. How do you know Martine Rousseau? You’re Groves’s girlfriend, right?”

The headache that’s been nagging Shaw since she woke up suddenly turns into a wave of nausea, and the Doctor just manages to get a cardboard vomit tray in front of her in time while she empties her stomach. Unfortunately, the last time she ate was significantly before the heavy drinking that followed, and all that comes up is bitter bile. The lawyer rolls her eyes and sits down, and the Doctor leaves the room, which Shaw completely agrees with as a life decision. She wishes she could leave the room.

Nausea hits her again and she coughs miserably, and then Joss barges into the room, changes her tray, fetches her some ice water and helps her sip it, all while simultaneously telling the lawyer to back off. 

Andrea rolls her eyes, “The cops won’t back off. Sameen here is the only awake person involved in an on campus shooting. The media is having conniptions. She has to tell me what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Shaw manages to lift her head out of her vomit tray and the room doesn’t spin too much so she counts it as a win. “Urgh, don’t call me Sameen. It’s Shaw.” 

Joss’s careful hands help her to sit back on a pile of pillows and raise her bed up, but Shaw actually feels a lot better for having thrown up, though she’s still groggy from the anesthesia. Joss makes her look at her for a moment, and seems to agree with what she sees, because she leans over and presses her head against Shaw’s carefully for a second and then stands up. “Okay, I’ll be right here.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” Shaw grumbles, looking over at the coiffed lawyer who raises an eyebrow at her expectantly. “Okay. So, uh, Root stayed the night with me last night. This morning, she got up and got us coffee, then we were watching TV at like, eleven, maybe. You can find out what time everyone else left. I guess Martine must have been waiting for Zoe to leave. Anyway, we were halfway through a show when someone knocked. I went down, and Martine was standing there waving a gun around like a lunatic. I asked her what she wanted, she yelled about me taking something, but I have no idea what she was talking about. She pretty much backed me into the living room, and then Root came downstairs. Martine turned around and I tried to get the gun off her,” Shaw points at her face, “it didn’t go well. Then Martine was shouting about Claire, whoever the fuck that is, and Root said something like... Claire Malrooney, did you kill her? And Martine went apeshit and shot at us, but she missed, and then she tried again and she shot Root, and... then I rugby tackled that crazy bitch into the wall and hit her til she dropped the gun, and then I was trying to stop Root from bleeding to death and then the cops showed up.” Shaw shrugs. “That’s pretty much it.” 

Andrea has been typing down notes as Shaw speaks, and now she looks up, a wry expression on her face. “You have to be the calmest person who just got shot at I’ve ever met.”

Joss makes a huffing noise and refills her water glass, muttering something under her breath. Shaw shrugs again, her head hurts too much to bother with her lack of emotional trauma. “I have a concussion, I guess. But Root’s okay?”

“Miss Groves is out of surgery, and stable. Her prognosis is good, she lost a lot of blood but they say she’s doing as well as can be expected...” 

Joss interrupts the lawyer with a look, “John and Harold are over there waiting for news, with a bunch of Root’s friends, we’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.” 

Andrea taps on her chin with her stylus for a moment, and her eyes get a far away expression. “I need to get my assistant to look into some things. I’ll be back in a minute, are you up for talking to the police? You just tell them exactly what you told me, with me here, okay? Your story ties in perfectly, you were admitted in your pajamas, covered in Groves’ blood, on scene you were trying to help her. Rousseau was in your house. Looks good, very innocent victim.” 

“Whatever.”Mostly Shaw just wants to go back to sleep, but she can’t say she’s not seriously interested in whatever cause Martine’s total meltdown. 

Joss stays with her while the cops, sadly not her good friend Elias and his scarred sidekick, take her statement. They don’t cuff her again, so Shaw figures that’s a positive sign. 

Her friends have to trade off sitting with her, only one visitor allowed at a time, but the hospital only makes Shaw stay in overnight, and she’s so overjoyed to be getting out that she doesn’t even complain about being forced to be in a wheelchair as the nurses help her into it. 

John appears in the doorway just as she’s settled, wide eyed and exhausted looking. Shaw knows they’ve all been here all night, and as much as she thinks that was unnecessary and stupid, she kind of appreciates it. Her thoughts are cut off by John’s loud voice. “She’s awake. Root’s awake.”


	17. You Look Like Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning is AT THE END if you wanna check in with that before you read as it's a bit spoilery. Please click 'More Notes' for the content warning.**

The world hurts. It hurts a LOT, Root decides, as she struggles to figure out what is going on. Did she get drunk again? This is like the worst hangover she’s ever had, compounded by a dull but vicious pain spreading through the right side of her chest, like maybe she’s been impaled. 

She tries to sit up, but the pain snakes around her spine and paralyses her, leaving her whimpering and breathing in tiny, almost nonexistent pants as she tries to get it under control. A calm voice comes to her from a great distance away.

“Ms Groves, Ms Groves can you hear me?” 

“Mrgh.” An inarticulate noise is the only thing Root can manage through the burning fire that has taken over her torso. 

“That’s great. Try to stay still.” Something cool floods her bloodstream, and then her muscles relax as morphine seeps through her system, and she adds up all the information she has and concludes: Hospital. Oh, fuck. She remembers, now. She remembers getting shot, Martine... fuck.

“Shaw?” The word comes out thick and syrupy, dripping like honey out of her mouth.

“Hmm? Don’t worry dear, the Doctor’s on her way to check you out. Just relax. You’re in hospital, everything’s okay.

“Shaw?!” Root can’t remember anything past the bullet impacting her chest, knocking her backwards. She feels like there were noises, hands, maybe, but everything is murky, and oh God, what if Martine killed Shaw while she was busy bleeding on the floor? She tries to sit up, frantic, and then hands are on her holding her down and there are people yelling and then everything fades out again.

The next time she wakes up, she knows where she is. Hospital. Shot in the chest. Gingerly, she reaches up and pads her fingers gently against her collarbone, feeling the edge of the gauze. She’s propped half on her side, and the pain spreads all the way through her, the space just behind her armpit throbbing in time with her chest, so she deduces that the bullet must have gone right through. That’s good, right? A through and through? It seems like the bullet hit her just under the collarbone, at an angle judging from the pain between her armpit and her shoulderblade. Urgh. She tries to peel her eyes open, but it takes a few minutes, and she sees she is alone in a private room, the lights low and the door closed. 

There’s a call button next to the bed, but Root doesn’t want a Doctor to come and knock her out again, she wants to know what happened. She _has_ to know what happened.

The cannula in the back of her hand hurts when she pulls it out, the heartbeat monitor unclips easily from her finger, but sitting up is so awful she thinks she’s gonna fall right off the bed and hurt herself even more. She takes long, slow breaths through her nose and grits her teeth, holding on to the bedframe and then trying for the door.

She almost collapses, but somehow the handle is in her hand, and she’s still on her feet, so she opens the door and inches out into a white corridor. The pain rolls through her whole right side, threatening to make her pass out, but she supports her right arm with her left hand and stumbles down the corridor, toward the waiting room.

It seems impossible that she makes it that far without bumping into anyone, but it’s only actually a few rooms away, and then she sees Harold, a book in his right hand, and his left hand petting John’s hair as the big guy takes a snooze in his lap. 

Harold looks up, sees her, and almost throws John on the floor in his haste to get up, John flails and manages to get his balance, and then Harold is next to her, sliding his arm around Root’s waist carefully and helping her sit down. 

Root obeys, if only because she’s completely run out of energy, and the room spins around her as she leans against Harold’s warm body. He’s saying something, but she can’t hear, and all her effort is expended on one single word. “Shaw?”

Then John is in front of her, and a nurse is running over, and they move Harold out of the way so they can inspect her bleeding hand (from the needle) her bandages, and her face. “Shaw!” Root is insistent, batting the hands away, and Harold makes a little sound that’s not quite a laugh. 

“She’s fine, she’s getting discharged. I’ll fetch her, okay. Just... please let the medical professionals do their jobs? You were _shot_.” 

John almost falls over his own feet spinning around, yelling, “I’ll get her!” and disappears down a corridor, so Root lets the nurses help her and they plop her in a wheelchair, take her back to her room and jar her considerably as they settle her back into the bed. 

Checking she hasn’t torn her stitches is too much for Root, on top of the dizziness and the relief of hearing that Shaw is okay. Okay enough to be discharged, even. She closes her eyes and lets the world fuzz out, and only flutters back in when she feels a touch too soft to be medical on her wrist. 

The room is empty, except for Shaw, who’s standing awkwardly next to the bed with her eyebrows drawn together and her hand hanging in the air like she’s just snatched it back. There’s an inch long gash with three stitches in it uncomfortably close to her eye, and the whole right side of her face is swollen, black and purple and painful looking. 

The knot inside Root’s chest does a dance, and then releases, and she finds herself smiling a big, idiot grin at Shaw’s grumpy, bruised little face. “God, you’re cute.”

“You look like shit,” Shaw grumbles, but takes a half step closer, and Root painstakingly moves her feet so Shaw can sit on the end of the bed.

“I can imagine,” she says drolly, gesturing at the bed with her left hand. 

Shaw flicks her eyes to the bed, then to Root, then to the bed again. 

Root can practically see the gears turning before Shaw very, very carefully sits on the extreme side of the bed, using her feet to prop her there. “That was fucking stupid. What you did.” 

Root wonders if pressing the morphine button would be a good idea or not. “I thought it was a great plan.” 

“Plan? You got yourself _shot!_ ” Shaw sounds completely indignant, but it’s just so cute Root can’t help the little smile on her face. Maybe she’s still high on the last dose?

“Worked out, didn’t it? Besides, what if you’d been shot? You think I was gonna wrestle Martine to a standstill? I assume that’s what happened. I didn’t exactly have my taser in my jammy shorts. As well you should know.” She can’t help the innuendo, buoyed up on relief, and possibly morphine. 

Shaw makes an inarticulate noise and digs her nails into her thigh before sighing and scraping her hair off her face, not looking at Root. “Pretty much. She’s in a coma. I may have banged her head against the wall a few times.” She sounds like she’s not sure if she is supposed to sound like she feels bad about it, and Root’s heart does a little skip in her chest. 

She carefully moves her leg over so the very tiniest part of her little toe brushes against Shaw’s back. Shaw’s whole body stiffens like she’s been electrocuted, and then she relaxes in increments. Root watches, fascinated, before replying. “My hero.” 

“Root...” Shaw trails off, and Root moves her foot again, pressing closer to Shaw. She thinks she could probably wriggle her toe right into Shaw’s buttcrack if she really tried, but maybe now is not the time. 

“What? I’m supposed to be worried about her? Please. She came into your house with a gun. You’re allowed to hit her head against the wall. In fact, it’s encouraged. By me. And.. Jesus. I totally forgot. What she said, about Claire, do you remember that?” 

“I remember her yelling about Claire something or other, and then opening fire.” Shaw very slowly, and very carefully, without looking at Root or at her hand, reaches behind her and squeeze Root’s foot, as though she just wants to be sure Root is actually there, is actually real. 

It sends a warm shiver through Root and she finds herself exhaling slowly, probably with a soppy look on her face before she registers what Shaw said, and what they were talking about. “Right, Claire Mahoney. She disappeared last year, it was all over the news.” Root’s head hurts with thinking, but she has to explain. “On that video card I swiped, there were two files. The other one hadn’t been shared or copied anywhere, but I opened it to check it wasn’t a different video of you. It was a ... similar situation, different girl. I thought she looked familiar, but I didn’t watch it except for a second. But then Martine was shouting about Claire, and ... I remembered the pictures they released. I think it was her. I think Martine filmed herself with Claire.”

“That doesn’t make her a murderer.” Shaw points out, still holding Root’s foot, but gently now, like it’s made of glass. 

“Turning up at your house with a gun, yelling about a girl who disappeared doesn’t seem suspicious to you? And Claire was underage. That’s statutory rape... Is there girl on girl stat rape?” Root tries to find a more comfortable way to sit, her chest and side throbbing in pain in time with her heartbeat, like her skin is too tight for her flesh. She feels like an overcooked sausage. 

Before Shaw can reply, the door opens and a uniformed police officer strides in, taking in Shaw’s position on the bed. “Uh, I’m sorry miss, but we have to take your ... friend’s statement now she’s awake. You’ll have to wait outside?” 

The look Shaw is giving him could potentially kill him on the spot, and the man shifts awkwardly. Root nudges Shaw with her foot, pushing her a little until she stands up. “It’s okay, Shaw. Oh, do you have my phone? Can you call Caleb and tell him to send his lawyer?”

“No need,” Shaw allows herself to be ushered out of the room, “she’s already here. I’ll grab her.”

The police officer brings in a chair to sit in, and is followed by a female officer who gives Root a nod and leans against the wall just inside the door. The man gives Root a kind smile. “So, we just need you to tell us, in your own words, what happened yesterday afternoon.” 

Root nods, familiar with the process. And confident that in this particular scenario the truth exonerates both her and Shaw of any wrongdoing. Home invasion, self defence. “Of course, but for anything other than my initial statement you’ll have to contact my lawyer. Also, if I pass out, try again later.” She takes a deep breath, and reconsiders the morphine, but decides that it’s better to just get through her statement and then pass the fuck out. Now she knows Shaw is okay, everything seems much, much better. 

The officer looks at her expectantly with his pen poised over his notebook, and gives her an encouraging nod. “Go on, Miss.”

So Root tells him everything she can remember. “Martine’s been stalking Shaw, like, full on. Photos, videos, creepy messages. The whole shebang. She’s obsessed. There’s digital proof of that, although Shaw’s never reported it,” the digital footprints of Martine’s actions are still there, the messages she sent, without an image, sure, but enough to show systematic harassment, plus the emails that Root found between Martine and Kara Stanton discussing Shaw, pretty incriminating stuff, if it’s needed, “so I guess when she found out Shaw and I are together, she lost it. We were hanging out in bed, upstairs, and Shaw went to answer the door. I heard yelling, and when I went downstairs, Shaw was on her knees in the living room and Martine had the gun pointed at her head. She was shouting about Claire Mahoney, that girl who disappeared last year. I don’t know what she meant, but it sounded important.” 

Root has no intention of telling the police she broke into Martine’s house and stole a memory card, and she’s pretty sure that even if the cops fuck up the investigation that she’ll be able to find some connection between Martine and Claire—if there’s one to find—when she’s released and has access to a computer. The officer narrows his eyes as he makes a note of that, circling it deliberately. “What happened next?” 

“Martine saw me, in the doorway. I was just standing there, I didn’t know what to do, and Martine turned and Shaw tried to tackle her while she was distracted but Martine hit her in the face with the gun.” Root flinches as she remembers the sound of impact, the sight of Shaw, moving gracefully and then suddenly robbed of momentum, her head snapping backwards and blood spraying through the air in what felt like slow motion. Root had really thought Shaw was dead, for a moment, she went so limp as she fell. “I... I ran over to her, I didn’t care if Martine shot me, I just needed to get to Shaw, and she was all dizzy and bleeding, I mean, you saw her face just now. But she was alive, and she started sitting up and the stupid idiot put herself between Martine and me, because she thinks she’s fucking bulletproof.” to her own surprise and the officer’s awkwardness, Root starts to cry, tears jumping fully formed to her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. 

The police officer pours her a glass of water and Root takes it with a shaky hand, sipping it until she feels the sobs subsiding, locking them down in her chest before managing to continue. “And Martine was still shouting about Claire, asking if we saw her, whatever that means, and I just.. I just knew she was talking about Claire Mahoney so I said her name, I didn’t mean to, it just fell out, and then Martine shot at us and she missed, but she was going to shoot again and I couldn’t, I mean... Shaw was all out of it, so I pushed her and then Martine shot me.” She lifts her hand up to the place on her chest that’s taped and covered, licking her dry lips. “She actually shot me. I was _shot_.” It sounds so insane, that she can’t help the little laugh that pops out, startling her. “And then I don’t remember anything until I woke up here.” 

The police ask a few questions and then depart with platitudes, telling Root they’ll be in touch, and as soon as they are gone Root’s room just fills with people.

Daizo is there, with a huge cloud of metallic helium balloons he happily ties to the side of Root’s bed, successfully blocking a large portion of the medical equipment. 

Daniel and Leon have an enormous teddy between them, which Root is a hundred percent sure that Daniel bought and Leon insisted on sharing the credit for, which makes her laugh painfully as they prop it up next to her. 

John and Harold have a pile of books, well, John carries it and Harold tells her about it, insisting that she give him a list of requests. Zoe gives her a careful hug and cheerfully hands her a small bag, telling her that it’s for when she gets bored of lolling around. 

Root makes the mistake of opening it in front of everyone and hauls a bright pink bullet vibrator out, rolling her eyes. Shaw is sort of hovering in the doorway, and Joss grabs her and drags her over in time to hear Zoe say, “that model is called a Baby Shaw, it has two modes- hulk smash and awkward turtle,” which makes Shaw look like she wants to retreat, or maybe put Zoe a headlock, but Root holds her hand out for her without thinking about it. 

Shaw steps forward and takes it and then squeezes it gently before releasing it, and John says, “am I going mad?” which makes Shaw hit him, and then everyone is laughing at them fake/real wrestling, and Root feels something so bright and hot in her chest it makes her eyes sting. 

When Shaw breaks away from John’s long arms she looks at her with concern. 

“Okay, everyone out.” Her tone is not to be argued with, and so everyone takes it in turns to give Root a hug or a (left) shoulder squeeze before promising to arrange a visiting schedule, Harold whips out his iPad to start an excel document, asking the boys for their email addresses to coordinate. 

In Zoe’s case her parting gift is a faceful of boobs, as she leans over and puts them in Root’s face, cheerfully pronouncing “boobs are the best medicine,” before being manhandled out of the room by an increasingly irritated Shaw. 

Joss empties a huge bag of candy and chocolate onto Root’s bedside table and squeezes out the half blocked door with a little wave.

Zoe manages to wink at Root before the door is closed behind her, and then Shaw prowls over to the bed, ostensibly inspecting Root’s medical equipment. 

“Were you a Doctor in a past life?” Root tries to keep her tone light, although she’s feeling emotionally drained and her side is throbbing like razor wire has been threaded through her muscles.

“You’re hurting.” Shaw lifts up the morphine clicker and looks at Root questioningly. 

Root dithers for a minute, caught between pain and not wanting to spin out again, and then nods, “are you trying to get me high so you can take advantage of me?”

Shaw snorts, clicking the button, and Root waits impatiently for the relief. “You definitely don’t need to be high for that, but you do need to be more... mobile.”

“I could stay really, really still while you ate me out?” Root breathes out as the opiates wash through her bloodstream, smoothing out the pain. 

Shaw flops down in the chair the officer had occupied, puts her feet up on the edge of the bed and rips open a chocolate caramel bar. “I’ll ask the Doctor for her medical advice on our sexual acrobatics when she comes to check on you,” she says dryly through a mouthful of chocolate.

“You’re staying?” Root sighs, feeling the world spinning away from her. 

Shaw’s voice breaks through the fog before Root fades out completely, “yeah, I’m staying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **content warning** mentions of minor character death.


	18. Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** Mentions of underage sex, mentions of dub con

****

FOUR DAYS LATER 

“I need a favour, before we pick Root up.” Shaw shoves her hands in her pockets, glowering. She hates asking for favours.

Zoe looks up from her computer screen, eyes Shaw for a moment and nods. “Sure.” 

“Can you be ready to go in ten?” 

“Yeah, no worries. I just need to put some pants on.” Zoe spins the chair and Shaw rolls her eyes at the Winnie the Pooh nightshirt she’s wearing. “Hey, it’s laundry day!” 

Shaw just mooches out of the room and slopes down the stairs, mind turning over what she’s planning to do. Martine woke up two days ago, but is being kept in the hospital. According to Caleb’s lawyer, Martine has yet to give a statement, but is under police custody pending the conclusion of the investigation. Shaw just wants the whole thing to be over so she can move on with her life. 

It’s a wet and windy day, and Harold drives slowly, making Shaw itch with impatience in the back seat. John and Joss stay home to finish setting up the living room, and Shaw wishes they were there. Joss always knows what to say to Shaw, and John is great for a distracting wrestle/ mockery fit, but she’s stuck with Zoe who keeps shooting her smug looks in the rear view like a proud parent, making Shaw grind her teeth and stare determinedly out the window into the gray skies. 

The hospital parking lot is pretty full, so Harold goes to find parking, agreeing to meet Shaw and Zoe at Root’s room. Shaw’s hopeful that her quick visit to Martine will go unnoticed by everyone except Zoe, who she needs to pull off her illegal visit. 

“Just distract the officer, I don’t care how you do it, I need to get into Martine’s room for a minute. I’ll meet you at Root’s room after.” Shaw strides down the corridor so fast Zoe struggles to match her pace even with her long legs. 

“What are you gonna do, Shaw?” She sounds a little concerned, and Shaw glances at her, then rolls her eyes.

“Not murder her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m gonna... persuade her to confess.” Shaw turns the small plastic square between her fingers in the tight confines of her pockets and thinks of Root’s face when the bullet hit her. Something lurches in her stomach. 

Zoe looks at her for another heartbeat and then nods, seeming to agree with whatever she sees in Shaw’s face. “Wait here, I’ll make an opening, you just... get ready to run in for the cross.” Zoe winks and keeps walking as Shaw grinds to a halt, Martine’s door and the bored looking officer standing outside it in sight. 

Rolling her eyes at Zoe’s soccer reference, she does as she’s told and waits. Zoe walks past the door, past the officer, and then stumbles like she’s lost her balance, half falling. Automatically, the officer steps forward to help her, and somehow Zoe manages to land them both on the floor in a tangle of limbs. Shaw takes two running steps, yanks the door open while the man tries to get his face out of Zoe’s cleavage and slides inside, clicking it shut behind her.

Martine is facing away from the door, and Shaw can’t tell if she’s awake or not, but she strides forwards and clears her throat. Martine turns her head, and Shaw glares at her, taking in the pale skin, bruising under the eyes and the thick white bandaging around Martine’s crown. 

The girl doesn’t react, just looks at her, dead eyed, and Shaw fishes the memory card out of her pocket, holding it up for Martine to see. The blonde’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, you know what this is.” 

Martine groans and swallows thickly. “What do you want, Shaw.” Her voice is grated and nasty, and Shaw feels a sense of satisfaction that she’s the one who put Martine here.

“Funny, I was asking you that when you turned up at my house with a gun and shot my ... girl... my frie... my Root. Shot Root,” Shaw decides to ignore that awkward fumble through possible names for what Root is to her, and continues, “what I want is for you to just confess to the police. Tell them you stalked me, couldn’t handle that I had someone new, and decided to take matters into your own hands. And then you tell them what you did to Claire. I’ve seen the video.” Shaw’s never been more grateful for her ordinary lack of inflection. She knows it makes her difficult to read, and she thinks her bluff is pretty solid. Martine clearly knows someone took the video card during the fireworks, and there must have been something pretty bad on it to make her go off the rails as badly as she did. Something that proves Martine did something terrible. Shaw is betting that the reality of the video is awful enough that Martine would rather confess than have it handed over to the police. Shaw has been toying with the idea that Claire might have gotten badly hurt in some unsafe play. And Martine doesn’t know that the plastic card in Shaw’s hand is actually out of Harold’s fancy camera and at worst holds nudes of John.

“And if I don’t?” Martine is paler than she was, her eyes sparkle with a sort of hard desperation, and Shaw shakes her head.

“If you don’t, I put this video on the internet, and everyone will know anyway. I bet they’ll find Claire if they look hard enough, and meanwhile you’ll be immortalised online. Your whole family will see this, everyone you’ve ever met. I know you killed Claire. I want justice and closure for her family, and I never want to see you again. You can figure out a plea with your lawyer, maybe you’ll get off with twenty years. But you confess, or I’ll use this,” she waves the video card, “and my super fancy lawyer to nail you to the wall. Life. You wanna do life in jail with no parole and know that whole time that your little escapades will never, ever leave the public consciousness because this video will make sure that all they ever see when they look at you is the psycho who tied up a fifteen year old girl, fucked her and killed her? Confess. Keep it simple, out of the papers. It’ll be better for everyone.”

Martine slumps on the pillow like she’s been shot, and Shaw snarls a little at the unbidden memory flash of Root collapsing backwards, and then Martine nods. “Okay. You win, Shaw.” She sounds hollowed out and bitter, and Shaw doesn’t give a shit. 

“Two days.” 

Shaw walks to the window, unlocks it, swings her leg over and looks at Martine, white as the sheets around her. “Come near her again and I’ll kill you.” The threat isn’t empty, even though it’s delivered with little emotion. 

Martine closes her eyes, and Shaw thinks she sees a tear leak out like a falling diamond before she dangles herself down from the first floor window ledge and drops athletically to the ground. 

As she squelches through the muddy grass back to the parking lot, she sees Harold limping across the concrete, and waits for him at the sliding door. 

He eyes her, newly damp from the rain, muddy up to mid-calf, and with her best blank expression on. “I needed some air.”

“Hmph.” She matches his pace as they head for Root’s room and Zoe jumps off the bed as they walk in, raising an eyebrow at Shaw. 

Shaw gives her a miniscule nod that goes unnoticed by everyone else, and then she ducks her head as she looks at Root. “Ready to get out of here?” 

“God, yes.” Root says fervently, and then a nurse bustles in to help her into a wheelchair. Shaw successfully intimidates the man enough to let her be the one who settles Root in and takes over the pushing while Zoe opens the doors and Harold pops a huge umbrella open to cover them all as they wheel her to the car. Root is pretty quiet, and Shaw can’t help glancing at her all too frequently, something nagging at her. 

“You okay?” She mumbles it after they help her into the backseat as she slides in next to Root, short legs fitting easily in the space behind the passenger seat. 

“Yeah, just.. wondering how I’m gonna... do anything.” Root mutters with a curled lip, gesturing at her right arm, strapped into a blue sling across her chest. 

“We actually thought about that!” Zoe pipes up from the front seat, turning around so she can see them while Harold starts the engine. “You live a half hour from campus, which makes getting to class difficult, and also, we realised all your friends have penises. Or, probably have penises? I guess we don’t actually know... irrelevant. All your friends are dudely dudes regardless of their penis-owning status, which could get awkward when you need help in the shower and stuff, although Leon offered his services about four hundred times. We figured you could stay with us while you get back on your feet. We have three vagina owners in the house who could help you! It’s perfect. Only Shaw’s gonna be perving on you, and that’s hardly a problem. Or, I mean, you can obviously go home if you’d rather. But we’re way more fun.” She flashes Root a four hundred megawatt grin and Root shoots her eyes sideways, to Shaw, who is studiously looking out of the window. 

“Oh, you figured, huh?” 

Shaw doesn’t meet her eyes as Harold swings the car up the hill towards campus. “Yeah, well. You can’t drive, or walk that far yet. It makes sense to stay on campus.” 

 

“And where will I be sleeping during this sensible plan? On the couch?”

“Well, obviously the preferred plan is with Shaw, but if she gets all crazy pants then I will spoon Joss into submission and you can take my room. Or we can kick her out. I like you better anyway. You don’t have to decide right now, we can always drive you home later.” Zoe announces cheerfully, turning back to face the road, and Harold parks competently in front of Casa Machine. There are brightly coloured balloons around the door, Root notices. 

Harold politely opens Root’s door for her, and she uses his arm to get to her feet, unsteady and already in pain from the car ride, even though it wasn’t terribly bumpy. 

Shaw hovers awkwardly until Root reaches out for her, and then she slips an arm around Root’s waist to help. Zoe says ‘aww,’ and snaps a picture on her cellphone, and Shaw moves like she’s going to let go but Root catches her foot on a small rock at the same time and takes a deep breath in pain as the movement jars her insides. Shaw’s hands gentle on her and help take her weight as she walks slowly toward the door. 

Harold opens it, gives Root a little smile and then Shaw helps her over the little step to get in. Root’s heart squeezes in her chest, remembering last time she was in the living room doorway. Her breath grows short, but Shaw’s hand is warm on her side and when she looks at her, Shaw gives her a little grin and a nod. It’s enough, and Root finds her feet, taking the next step. 

They walk into the living room, and suddenly a loud bass beats start, and Root sees the huge banner draped across the wall. It says ‘Homecoming Queer’ having had the side of the ‘n’ covered by a square of paper, and it’s surrounded by more balloons. 

It takes Root a moment to process, but she realises that the entire living room has been redecorated. It’s painted a pale shade of blue now where before it was white, there are framed posters hanging on the wall, the bookcase has been replaced by a lower one with irregular shelves and even Harold’s chair has been exchanged for a similar, but different model. The floor is covered with a warm coloured striped rug, and even the curtains have been changed. It doesn’t look like the same room at all, and her tight chest loosens a little. 

Shaw pinches her side with gentle fingers just as the lyrics to the song playing kick in. 

“She gets knocked down, but she gets up again, you’re never gonna keep her down,” sings everyone enthusiastically as Chumbawumba’s familiar voices fills the room, and Shaw helps Root to Harold’s new chair and eases her down into it. Her biceps bulge holding Root’s weight as she settles her, and Root runs a finger down one lightly as Shaw lets go and leans her hip on the chair arm, standing what would be uncomfortably close if Root didn’t want her to be within arm’s length at all times. It reminds her of how Shaw stood next to her after she’d tasered that guy. In her space, but welcome. 

Joss swans over with a plate heaped with Root’s favourite snacks, how she found out this information Root doesn’t know, but she’s overjoyed at the scent of sweet and sour pork and groans in delight. “Urgh, thank God for no more hospital food. Gimme!” 

She has to awkwardly balance the plate on her knee, using her left hand to operate the spoon she’s been provided with, and she catches Shaw watching her out of the corner of her eye. 

Zoe and Joss drag John onto the improvised dance floor while Harold watches with a little grin on his face, as the song changes to “Guns don’t Kill People, Rappers Do,” and Root rolls her eyes, looking at Shaw questioningly. 

The brunette just shrugs and steals a bite of pork from Root’s plate. “Don’t look at me, Zoe made the playlist.”

“And ‘Homecoming Queer’?” 

Shaw smirks, sliding off the chair in favour of going to the kitchen for her own plate, Root’s surprised she waits that long. “They don’t make ‘thanks for saving my life’ banners, it turns out.”

Once the playlist (including ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ and ‘Titanium’ amongst other completely inappropriate choices) has finished, John and Shaw maneuver the comfy chair around so it’s next to the new, and larger sofa, Shaw sits down in front of Root, leaning her shoulder against Root’s knees, and Harold flicks the TV on.

“We came up with a short list of movies we could watch while you’re less than mobile. If you’d like to pick one?” Root realises all of them are planning to stick around for the day, even though they should probably be in class right about now, and a warm feeling settles in her chest. 

The Netflix queue is packed, and Root flicks through for a few minutes before settling on Galaxy Quest. The opening credits roll, Shaw’s hand grazes her socked foot, her shoulder throbs painfully, and Root wonders if it's normal to be this happy.


	19. Bodyguard Slash Orgasm Generator

After the second movie of the day (Ten Things I Hate About You, after a coin flip between that and Easy A), when pizza has come and gone, and the daylight has disappeared, Joss manages to not-so-subtly herd everyone who isn’t Shaw or Root out of the living area. 

Shaw knows this is the part where she’s supposed to talk to Root, but there aren’t any words, not that they’re stuck in her throat or anything, just like words don’t exist in her head right now. She picks idly at a rip in her jeans, and resists the urge to just get up and leave.

Across the room, the picture hanging on the wall, a print of Don Quixote tilting at a windmill, covers the bullet hole left by Martine’s first shot. Shaw knows that above her head, hastily filled in with polyfiller by John standing on a totally unsafe chair, is the bullet hole from Martine’s third shot. And behind her, on the sofa, is flesh and blood with the result of Martine’s second shot left in the torn muscles, fractured ribs and broken blood vessels of Root’s shoulder. 

It should have been her. This is Shaw’s major opinion on the subject. Root had nothing to do with anything, got dragged into a cluster fuck of drama thanks to Shaw, and really, what has Shaw brought to the table in all this? Nothing. She could have at least have taken the fucking bullet so Root didn’t have to, her delicate, pale skin ripped open. Shaw looks down at her hands, remembering how _red_ Root’s blood was as she tried to halt its mad flow out of Root’s body.

A hand on her shoulder makes her jump, jolting her out of the memory and into the present. Root has shifted, is looking down at her, face marred with concern. “Sameen?”

Shaw shakes her head, trying to erase the image of Root lying on the floor, broken and bloodied. “So, you wanna stay with me tonight?” Her voice is thick and angry sounding, like an accusation, and Root eyes her carefully for a minute and then reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Shaw’s ear, very gently.

“I’d like that, but not if it makes you uncomfortable.” She sounds like she’s picking her words cautiously and Shaw clenches her jaw, irritated that she’s such a fucking mess, such a minefield waiting to go off and unable to steer people away from the dangers. 

“I guess it’s better than thinking about you all by yourself in your stupid apartment.” She mutters, not looking up.

“You worried about me, sweetie?” There’s a gentle little note of teasing, and Shaw untenses minutely. 

“Nah. But I don’t want people saying I don’t look after my bodyguard properly.” She tries a joke of her own, waiting to see how it works out.

Root relaxes behind her, and Shaw realises Root’s been fiddling with her hair since she tucked it and Shaw hadn’t even noticed. It feels good, so she leans into the hand a little, and then her mind flashes back to the last time Root played with her hair, and she feels her face heat.

“Bodyguard slash orgasm generator.” There’s a grin in Root’s voice and she gently rubs the tip of Shaw’s pink ear between her fingers, so Shaw knows that she’s noticed her blush. For some reason, it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but gives her a pleasant little shiver. 

“Orgasm generator? Makes you sound like you’re half machine...”

“Well, you got a better name?” Root slides her hand down Shaw’s shirt, dragging her fingertips over her collarbones slowly. Shaw is acutely aware that the kitchen door is open and her housemates are ‘tidying’ in there, but clearly actually just trying to give Shaw some space. It turns her on, knowing they're just past the doorway.

“Naked friend?” Shaw melts as Root pushes down into the cup of her bra, she has to lean forwards to get access and now Shaw can feel her breath hot on the side of her neck. She swallows the little squeak threatening to burst out.

“Ooh, we’re friends now, I like that. Classier than fuck buddy.” 

“Uh, friends with extreme benefits?” Shaw isn’t actually totally clear on what she’s saying, because Root’s fingers have latched onto her nipple and are squeezing hard. Her pussy clenches and her breathing hitches when Root releases her and then moves to the other breast, repeating the action. 

Shaw is just about to climb on top of Root on the sofa, roommates be damned when Root shifts in the couch to get better access and then breathes in sharply. Shaw looks up at her, her face is white and her eyes are closed tightly, she’s breathing fast and clearly in pain. 

It’s not a bad look on her, but Shaw forces her libido back down and carefully disengages herself from Root’s good arm. It takes a moment, but she locates the painkillers Root was prescribed and checks the details. Shit, they missed Root’s dose by a good half an hour. 

She hurriedly grabs a glass of water from the kitchen, ignoring the questioning looks and helps Root to take her meds. “I think you should probably go lie down for a bit.” Because regardless of how much Shaw wants those glassy eyes to be lust related, Root is badly injured. She was shot six days ago and needs to rest.

“Ok.” Root doesn’t even protest jokingly, and Shaw thinks that alone says a lot about how worn down Root is. It’s only five in the afternoon, but hey, the best part of being a student is going to bed whenever you feel like it.

“C’mon.” With a few pained grunts, Shaw manages to get Root up to her bedroom, and into the bed. 

“You changed the sheets?” Root mumbles as she settles into the soft, orange and yellow blankets.

“You jizzed all over the other ones.” Shaw snarks with a grin, gentle hands helping Root to get settled in a way that keeps her weight off her bad side.

“Mmm, your fault, if I remember rightly.” 

Shaw chuckles and covers Root up. She looks young, vulnerable, and in pain, and Shaw dithers for a moment before starting to tidy the room, even though it’s already clean. She’s basically reorganising books for no reason when she notices Root is watching her through half closed eyes.

“Uh...” She fumbles for an explanation, but Root just gives her a tired smile and pats the bed next to her.

“You can just be here. That’s okay.” 

“Urgh. I have reading to do for class, I guess.” Shaw refuses to react to the little tight feeling in her stomach that’s telling her to stay with Root until she’s sure she’s okay, but she does sit down on the bed and carefully slide under the covers. Root shifts a little until her foot is pressed against Shaw’s calf, and Shaw huffs in approval before opening her book.

“You have to read Harry Potter for class?” Root sounds tired, but very amused, and Shaw looks down at the book in her hand. Sure enough, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. 

“Shut up and go to sleep, Root.” Her class reading is by the bed already, it turns out, so Shaw doesn’t even have to get out of bed to fetch it.

About an hour later, Zoe and Joss poke their heads around the door and Zoe makes a heart out of her hands to frame them with. Shaw eyes her balefully but decides that on the balance of it, Root staying sleepy and warm next to her is worth more than giving Zoe a purple nurple, so she simply narrows her eyes and gives her the finger. 

Joss pinches Zoe hard enough to make her squeak, winks at Shaw and they both head down the corridor, muttering quietly to each other. 

Shaw’s phone vibrates and beeps in her pocket, and Root makes a little sleepy noise before reaching out and sliding her warm hand under the edge of Shaw’s shirt, resting it on her stomach. 

Shaw freezes, darting her eyes around, completely uncomfortable for a moment, and then Root rubs a little circle with her thumb and the tension drains out of Shaw like it was never there.

Her face is still scowly and confused when she opens the new group text on her phone

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // you guys are adorable //

SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // I am going to beat you to death with your stupidly enormous black dildo. Why do I put up with your fuckwittery? //

JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // she’s literally the only person who ever cleans the kitchen //

SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // urgh //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // you love me <3 <3 <3 with all your tiny grinch heart //

SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // I hate you //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // don’t scowl 2 loudly you’ll wake your adorbs girlfriend up //

JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // I hit her for you //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // she hits like a kitten //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // ow. she hit me again //

SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // zoe, don’t make me share those photos on facebook. & thanks carter, you’re the best //

JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // damn straight //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // that’s homophobic //

SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // i’m turning my phone off, losers. ps bring me some pizza and a drink //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // what did your last slave die of?//

SHAW @ MORGAN, JC // blood loss //

MORGAN @ JC, SHAW // yes master. you know 4 a sub youre a bossy little shit //

JC @ MORGAN, SHAW // I hit her again //

Shaw turns her phone on to silent and drops it on the bedside table, burying her head in her book. Five minutes later Zoe sneaks in with a plate of pizza, a beer, and a can of coke and a shit-eating grin. She puts the stuff down and raises her phone like she’s gonna take a picture. Shaw gives her one of her best ‘looks’ and Zoe snickers, holds her hands up in surrender and backs out of the room. 

Shaw waits til she’s gone to let the smile that’s been trying to jump onto her face out, and quietly opens the coke, trying to concentrate on her organic chemistry. Root’s warm hand on her stomach is really distracting.


	20. Are You A Sandwich Sort Of Girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I in no way recommend having sex less than a week after you get shot :)
> 
>  **content warning** voice kink, praise kink, sex, stap on sex, strap on blowjobs, talking about a silicone dick like it's a real dick, not warming up properly but liking it, mentions of bdsm, etc
> 
> [Now available in Mandarin](http://card.weibo.com/article/h5/s#cid=1001603929140167346275&vid=&extparam=&from=&wm=0&ip=125.65.149.48)
> 
> Smut marked by horizontal rules

When Shaw wakes Root up for her painkillers, she’s all bleary eyed and groggy. Shaw lets her half climb on her because it seems like more effort to tell her not to, so Root carefully props her slinged arm on Shaw’s torso.

As they’re lying there, Root tucked into Shaw’s armpit, Shaw’s arm behind her head to make space, she realises that she doesn’t even especially want to move. She feels like she should want to move, but she doesn’t. She’s doing okay here, with Root sleepily stroking her hip just under her shirt, and while there’s a low hum of arousal buzzing in Shaw’s belly, it’s not the kind that needs to go anywhere urgently. 

She flicks Buffy on, and they watch the scoobies dispose of the giant snake/mayor, and then Root looks up at her as the end credits roll. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and her hand stops its gentle movements. Shaw raises an eyebrow at her in question.

“Shaw...”

“Yeah, Root?” Her voice is all throaty, apparently more affected by the close contact than she thought, and Root’s mouth twitches before she replies.

“Are you a sandwich sort of a girl?” Her eyes are big and innocent, and Shaw has no idea what she means.

“To eat? Threeway? What are we talking here?” Root’s hand dips lower, grazes her pubic hair and Shaw licks her lips.

“Angel. Do you like to sandwich the two shows, or are you a Buffy purist?” 

Shaw snorts, carefully covers Root’s hand with hers, and stills it. “I’m easy. And on that topic, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I vote Angel then. We can watch it in airing order, I haven’t done that for a while.” She tickles Shaw’s tummy skin gently. “You can always finish yourself off if I run out of steam. I’ll watch.” 

Shaw chooses to ignore the fact that Root has just basically pronounced that they will be watching like two hundred hours of television together in favour of lifting up her waistband to give Root better access, having done her caregiver’s duty of protesting. “If you hurt yourself, it is definitely not my fault.” 

A sound from the doorway makes her look up, and she rolls her eyes when she sees Zoe reaching for the door handle with a smirk on her face. “Oh, don’t stop on my account.” She winks and closes the door before Shaw can formulate a reply, and Root grins up at her, rubbing her cheek against Shaw’s breast. 

“You’ll just have to do most of the lifting. Take your clothes off for me, Shaw.” 

Her voice drops to something steely and firm for the second sentence, the tone sends a little shiver through Shaw’s spine and she bites her lip, sliding off the bed while Root rolls onto her back a little and watches her through heavy lidded eyes. She lifts her good hand up and twirls it meaningfully, so Shaw turns around, slow heat unspooling in her stomach. 

Shaw’s had a lot of sex in her life. She can split the sex into two distinct categories in her head. Type one: Soft serve, vanilla, the normal type of sex that normal people want, and have, and sure, she can get off like that if the person knows what they’re doing, she’ll come. But it always feels like only half of her is engaged, is even present. The other half is waiting to leave, looking at a watch and rolling her eyes, missing something.

Then there’s the other kind of sex. _That_ Shaw discovered in her first year. The kind that lights her whole body up from the inside like a Christmas tree, takes over her world and changes the shape of things. There’s only been a few who’ve done that for her. Fetlife (or ‘kinky facebook’ as Zoe likes to call it) has allowed her to talk to people, set something up a few times, but it’s always been difficult—knowing who to engage with, to find out who is safe and who knows what they’re doing. 

The first time Shaw met someone online, Joss waited in a cafe around the corner until Shaw limped in four hours later, and the other girl looked so brittle that Shaw couldn’t ask her to do it again, so after that, every six months or so when she couldn’t compress the urges anymore, she’d just leave an address with her friends and hope for the best. 

Root is the first person she’s met, without searching deliberately for something, that has the thing that really does it for Shaw. When Root looks right through Shaw to the bits inside, she just knows that Root has her, Root’s gonna make it so good for her, is gonna line those bits up for her so she can let go of everything. And every time they’ve been together there’s been something deeper about it, the more that Shaw is always looking for. The thing that makes her skin sing. She doesn’t think this time is going to be different.

She pulls her sweater off, then her tshirt, letting them fall to the floor by her feet and unclasping her bra. She holds it out at arm’s length and then drops it, hearing Root inhale. Without looking back, Shaw unbuttons her jeans slowly and pulls them down in one, smooth movement that she knows shows off her ass and legs. She stays bent over for more time than is strictly necessary to peel off her socks, knowing Root has a killer view of her pussy, covered though it is by her tight boyshorts. They’re gray, and Shaw might be wet enough that Root can already see the evidence of her arousal—the thought makes her stomach clench pleasantly.

“Turn around for me, darlin’.” Root’s accent gets thicker when she’s horny, and Shaw likes knowing she has that effect on her. She does as she’s told, leaving her hands by her sides and waiting for her next instruction. Root is sprawled on the bed, her bad arm carefully supported by a pillow. “Do you have a strap on for me to fuck you with, Sameen?” 

The thought of Root fucking her like that, spreading her open and taking her, well, the slow burn in Shaw’s belly turns into a bit of a firestorm. She takes a shuddery breath and nods, her eyes flicking to the bedside drawer. 

“Get it for me.”

* * *

Shaw is a little surprised to find her hands are unsteady as she pulls open the drawer and looks inside. Choosing the harness is easy enough, she only has two, and the padded one will be more comfortable for Root’s narrow hips, plus it’s easier to get on. She places it carefully on the bed, and Root hooks it with the fingers on her good hand, inspecting it. “Nice”

The dick is a little harder to choose. Shaw knows which one is her favourite, but Root is still badly hurt and she’s gonna have to do all the work as well as go gently so she needs to account for that. No acrobatics.

She trails her fingers over the silicone soldiers waiting patiently in the drawer and selects the thick blue one with the widely flared head that makes her come just from penetration with the right angle. 

“I gotta wash it.” Shaw’s not totally sure of the rules they’re operating under, but she glances over at Root to see her face when she replies.

“Go ahead.” Root releases her with the statement, and Shaw gets to her feet, looking at the door and then back at Root.

“Can I... can I put something on?” 

Root gives her a sweet little smile and nods. “Of course, sweetie. Thank you for asking.”

The approval in her voice makes Shaw shiver in pleasure as she grabs a dressing gown from the back of the door, shoves the dildo in her pocket and heads for the bathroom to wash it. 

When she gets back, Root has wriggled out of the covers, and is touching herself lazily through her sweatpants, her bad arm out of the sling and resting at her side. 

Shaw licks her lips and steps into the room, closing the door behind her and sliding the robe back off her shoulders, leaving her just in her briefs. 

“Take those off and then help me with these.” Root’s voice buzzes through Shaw’s bones and leaves hooks in her, yanking her forward and warming her blood as she divests herself of her underwear and then carefully assists Root out of her cozy sweatpants. Underneath, she’s wearing practical white cotton underwear that doesn’t seem like her at all, and Shaw huffs a teeny little laugh at the sight. 

Root gives her a grin, so she knows her possible breach of the dynamic between them was allowed, and she relaxes as she threads the harness carefully around Root’s thighs and waist, clipping the straps back through the front pad competently. 

Root touches her hair with soft fingers and replies as Shaw fiddles with the straps. “Well, I should have asked you or Zoe to get me some clothes, but I asked Daniel and this is what he came up with. Useless.” 

Shaw doesn’t reply, just picks up the dick and wriggles the flared base of it through the O ring in the harness, trying not to jar Root. She leaves her hand around it once it’s in place, pushing it against Root’s groin experimentally and smiling at the sharp intake of breath. 

“That’s enough.” She snatches her hand back immediately, looking up at Root through her lashes, but Root touches her face gently, rubs a thumb over her lip and gifts her with a little smile. Shaw leans in, breathing shallowly. “Use your mouth, sweetie. I want you to suck me off, get my dick nice and wet before you slide on. I was thinking about it all the time in the hospital. You on your knees for me. Well, stomach will do for now.” 

Shaw’s eyes flutter shut at the thought of Root fucking into her mouth and she hates the fact that it won’t be violent, won’t split her lips bloody and sting her throat. Not this time. Root has to be careful with herself which means Shaw has to be careful with her, and she slithers down the bed, props herself on her elbows between Root’s splayed legs and leans down to press a kiss to her thigh. 

The muscle jumps under her mouth and Shaw can’t hide a little smirk as she looks up at Root, who’s watching her with those predatory eyes again. Root winds her hand into Shaw’s hair and yanks her across roughly, so the dildo thwacks into Shaw’s (unbruised) cheek. 

Shaw groans, deep in her throat, a completely involuntary noise that makes Root murmur, “good,” before she pulls again, dragging the cock across Shaw’s mouth with a slight tilt of her hips, and Shaw opens her mouth to let her in. 

It tastes like silicone, feels like plastic, wedges her jaw too wide for comfort (Shaw probably wouldn’t have picked this one if she knew it was gonna be a blowjob kind of situation), jams into the soft tissue of her throat and feels so good that Shaw knows she’s leaving a wet spot on the sheets.

Her hips are grinding down against the mattress, looking for contact, but her hands are busy on Root’s thighs, wedging them apart so she can control the swallow, take Root as far as possible without her body rebelling completely. 

Tears sting her eyes, her face _hurts_ where the movement is stretching her still bruised skin, but Root smells so good and is making quiet little pleased sounds and Shaw can’t stop looking at her, wishes she could be in two places at once so she could suck Root off and lick her mouth open and pull those noises right off her tongue. 

She hollows out her cheeks, knows what that looks like (hot), knows that it changes the drag of suction against the cock that is and isn’t Root, but from the faces Root is making, the desperate little tilts of her hips, Shaw knows she’s doing good work regardless of the biology involved. She can feel the heat of pride in her chest, pride that she’s able to make Root feel like this, and she loves it. Everything is so easy like this, where all she has to do is listen to Root and Root will take care of her. 

She wants to touch herself, but Root hasn’t said she can, and she’s too busy to ask. She sucks cock until her jaw is stiff and her lip is split after all, she can taste the metal of it, and then Root tugs on her hair gently and Shaw pulls off with a wet little pop. She can imagine what her face looks like right now, hair wild, flushed cheeks, swollen mouth. 

Root stares her down for a minute and then pulls on her chin, and Shaw obediently crawls up her body, offering her bruised mouth for Root’s kiss. 

She has to hover over her, leaning down, her hair shuts them in like a curtain, and without breaking the kiss Root reaches down between them, drags her fingers over Shaw’s soaked pussy and makes a little needy noise that sends a spark of pure white hot lust into Shaw’s clit. She tries to follow Root’s hand, but bumps up against the dildo and then, since it’s there, grinds against it. 

Root grabs it at the base, strokes Shaw’s inner thigh with her thumb in question and Shaw lifts a little and slides down on to the large, spit wet dildo. God, it’s a lot. Her breath catches, she presses her forehead into Root’s and waits for the adjustment from pain to good. She can’t help swearing under her breath, “fuck, oh, fuck, fucking shit,” and breathing in stinging little gasps. She’s so wet, easily wet enough, but so tight, and she should have warmed up with some fingers first but the burn is so right she doesn’t care. 

“Sameen?” Root whispers in her ear, and Shaw just breathes for a moment and then rolls her hips forwards in reply. Root squeaks in surprise and pleasure, and Shaw has to be so careful not to jar her arm when all she really wants to do is ride Root until they both come screaming but this has to be slow, and gentle, and it feels like an itch that Shaw can’t quite get to, but it’s so good and so much and she just keeps rolling her hips slowly through the ache of being stretched out and Root keeps breathing hotly in her ear. 

The little movements, pushing up with her thigh muscles, never quite putting her weight down on to Root completely means she has to prop herself on one arm, and instead of leaning on her hand she puts her forearm on the pillow next to Root’s head, so she can hide her face in Root’s neck and breathe in the scent of her skin while she rocks on top of her. 

Root turns her head, presses her lips against Shaw’s left cheek and tells her how good she is, how good it feels. She talks her through what she’s feeling, tells her she’s hot and tight and wet, and oh, oh, so good. 

Every word trickles through Shaw’s brain, down her spine and settles in her groin, combining with the growing pleasure building from the slow, drawn out fucking, short circuiting her brain until everything fogs out and there’s only Root under her, filling her up, and sparks bolting through her spine, and Root’s teeth in her neck and then Root freezes, grabbing her hip, and Shaw thinks she must have moved too fast, too hard, and hurt her, but it’s too late and she can’t stop because she’s already tumbling over into a vicious orgasm that leaves her gasping, clamping down on the dick inside her and shuddering with pleasure so intense it hurts. 

It takes a few moments for her to come down enough to move, Root’s hand is still digging into her, and Shaw whines, tapping it, unable to make words happen. Root unclenches her fingers stiffly and Shaw lifts up, the movement dragging a moan of _fuckgetoutofmethat’senoughthanks_ out of her before she tumbles in a wet heap to curl up on her side and try to get her breathing under control as her muscles keep skipping and her lungs seems confused as to what they need to do. 

* * *

“You okay?” Shaw manages to find her voice eventually, worried that she’s going to look up at Root and see pain drawn on her face, pain she put there. 

“Uh, great, actually.” Root sounds dazed, and Shaw looks up. 

Root’s face is flushed and relaxed, her eyes closed and she’s breathing rapidly. Shaw can see her pulse jumping in her neck and leans forward to press her mouth to it. 

Root jumps and shivers, then worms her hand under Shaw’s shoulder to hold her there. “You?”

“I think so.” Shaw stretches her legs out languidly, feeling the deep pang of being thoroughly fucked as she moves. 

“Did you come?” Root plays with her hair absently, twirling a strand around her fingers.

“Like a freight train. Did I hurt you? I was kinda... gone.”

“Dunno. I was too busy having the best orgasm ever.” Root cracks an eye and looks down at her, shrugs her good shoulder under Shaw’s head. “I’m not opposed to a bit of pain with my pleasure. I moved my arm, it was pretty intense.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Shaw murmurs, sliding her hand up Root’s stomach to rub her thumb over her nipple. Cause she can. 

Root snickers sleepily, running her hand down Shaw’s naked back. “Do you like to top sometimes?” 

Shaw licks her neck before replying, tasting sweat and Root. “Not really, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bottom from the top. I wanna make you feel good.” 

Root kisses her head and Shaw squirms a little closer, totally fucked out and sleepy warm. Usually she doesn’t like being physically close to people, even right after sex. Although, a few times after she’s been _hurt_ by women she’s found herself looking for physical contact, for reassurance or comfort or whatever. Right now, with Root, this isn’t real, deep pain, but she’s still sex-dizzy and weak, which works well enough as an excuse. 

Root takes her hand and guides it down to her groin, and Shaw sucks in a breath. “I don’t think I can.” She says warily, wondering if she should say ‘yellow’, instead, her pussy clenching in protest at the mere idea of it, but Root shakes her head and drops her hand on the straps.

“It’s a two hand job.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Shaw had totally forgotten for a minute there that that had to come off before they could pass the fuck out, and she struggles upright, unclips the harness with shaky fingers and throws the whole kit on the floor. Then she drags the duvet up over them both and crawls back into her previous spot. 

Root immediately wraps her good arm around her shoulder and Shaw shifts comfortably, feeling sleep yanking at her, she presses a kiss to Root’s chest and mumbles “painkillers are on the side, wake me up if you need to,” before succumbing to the drag.

Root murmurs, “goodnight, Sameen,” but Shaw barely hears her.


	21. Just A Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **content warning** smut, a little choking, voice kink. Shoot stuff.
> 
> Smut marked by horizontal rules

When Root wakes up, they’re not cuddling. Shaw is facing away from her, still naked, but her foot is pushed back and curled over Root’s calf. A warm frisson of pleasure rolls through her, and she tries to turn over so she can press up against Shaw’s back. 

As she moves, pain shoots through her shoulder, making her cry out and grit her teeth. Shaw wakes up immediately, rolling out of bed in one smooth motion and looking around the room as though they’re being attacked. She literally looks from corner to corner with her fists clenched before her eyes settle on Root and the tension flows out of her body. 

Root gives her a lopsided, shaky grin, sitting up slowly and carefully repositioning her arm. “Well, I guess it still hurts.” Shaw pads across to the bedside table and pops two pills out of the sheet of painkillers, handing them to Root. 

“I’ll get you some water,” she slips her dressing gown on and ducks out of the room.

Root tentatively pokes at her bandages and moves her shoulder experimentally in tiny increments. It’s maybe a little better. The pain isn't so sharp now, but the torn muscles are still very vocal about their wish to be stationary. The stitches are supposed to stay in for three more days, and then she’ll get a check up when they take them out. She wonders if she’s staying here until then. A little part of her wants to buy Shaw a toaster, but she’s not sure she’d see the funny side. She bets Zoe would though.

Shaw opens the door and lets her dressing gown fall open as she hands Root the water, smirking when Root’s eyes take a lingering trip down her exposed front. “Take your pills, horndog,” she jokes, eyes doing their own light wander over Root’s tshirt clad form. 

“When do you get your stitches out?” Root gulps down the painkillers with a mouthful of water and then drains the glass. 

“Tomorrow, three pm.” Shaw idly rearranges some stuff on the bedside table.

“You got plans for the weekend?” Root prods, crossing her legs under the blanket and reaching for her sling and then deciding against it, aborting the movement.

“Team Machine have a game at two, I figured I’d go watch.” Shaw pouts grumpily, clearly irritated that she can’t play.

“Am I invited?” Root asks, careful to keep little inflection besides mild interest in her voice. 

“Uh, sure. I mean, I figured you staying meant.. you were staying, for a bit. You know? But you don’t have to do stuff, if you just need to rest. Whatever.” Shaw’s so cute when she’s awkward and fumbly that Root can’t help reaching for her, and Shaw hesitates before moving closer, helping Root up. 

“I need a bath,” Root says, not trying to force eye contact on Shaw who’s looking around the room without purpose, clearly uncomfortable with her words, although agreeably standing close enough to Root that she can feel the heat of her skin. After a minute has dragged past Root touches Shaw’s collarbone gently with two fingers. “Should I ask Zoe to help me?” 

Shaw looks back at her at that, narrowing her eyes. “Why would you ask Zoe?” 

Root trails her hand lightly down Shaw’s sternum and across her stomach, feeling the muscles tense under her fingertips. “I didn’t know if we were at a ‘bathing each other’ place.” 

Shaw shrugs, “well, we’ve rubbed our naked bodies all over each other, I think I can handle cleaning your grimy ass,” she sounds faintly indignant, and then pauses, “unless that makes you uncomfortable?” It sounds a lot like she only adds the last part because she thinks she’s supposed to.

“I think I can handle the ‘ass’ portion, but I’m gonna need help with my hair, and my side and stuff. I can’t get the bandages wet.”

“You know I’m gonna be a doctor, right?” Shaw grumbles as she pulls her dressing gown shut, tying it this time. 

“No, I didn’t know that. That’s cool. Dati... Sleeping with a nerd, I can deal with that. ” Root teases as she gestures Shaw out the door.

“I’m not a nerd, I’m an over achiever. You’re a nerd. A _computer_ nerd!” The bathroom floor is chilly, and Root shivers as she waits for Shaw to fill the bath up. 

Once the water is about halfway, Shaw turns around and looks critically at Root. “It’s gonna really hurt taking your shirt off.” 

Root shrugs, “cut it off. I’m not attached to it.” 

Shaw rummages in a draw and locates a pair of scissors, snipping them in the air with a grin on her face. “So about that liking pain...”

“You’re supposed to be bathing me,” Root smirks right back, not even slightly fazed, and Shaw deliberately drags the cold metal up her skin while she’s cutting off Root’s shirt. 

The air is heavy between them for a moment, and as the fabric drops to the floor Root turns around so they’re face to face, angles her bad shoulder away from Shaw and slowly shoves her back against the tiles with her good hand around her throat. 

Shaw goes easily, thudding back against the ceramic with a soft, choked noise that makes Root wet her lips. 

Root leans in, wedges her thigh between Shaw’s, who obediently spreads for her, and opens her mouth as Root leans down and kisses her, stealing the breath right out of her lungs. 

Grinding her thigh against Shaw’s groin, Root bites her lip and squeezes her neck gently. Shaw groans, arching her back and rubbing against Root, and when Root pulls back with a grin, Shaw tries to chase her with her lips. 

Root just lets her go and hooks her panties with her good hand, managing to get them off, while Shaw watches with a dazed expression. Root has stepped into the bath, and lowered herself into the warm water before Shaw manages to unpeel herself and blink the arousal out of her eyes, refocusing on the room. 

“Just a reminder,” Root knows her grin is cocky, and Shaw narrows her eyes as she shrugs her dressing gown off and kneels down by the bath, grabbing a loofah and squirting some body wash on it. 

The sexual tension dissipates while Shaw carefully washes Root’s body, and even though Root works her hand between her legs underwater, it’s functional not erotic. Shaw motions for Root to lean forward, putting her head between her knees. 

With a little rearrangement, Root rests her bad arm on the side of the bath and Shaw slowly washes her hair for her, strong fingers rubbing her neck and head. It feels so good that Root can’t help making little happy noises under her breath, which clearly drive Shaw to greater efforts, eventually she’s just massaging her with little pretence at anything else, and when Root looks up at her, flicking her wet hair behind her Shaw’s eyes are big and dark with lust.

“Clean?” Shaw’s question is breathy and laboured, her chest lightly flushed and Root turns sideways, beckoning her in.

* * *

“You’re still dirty,” Root breathes into her mouth before kissing her, and Shaw practically falls in the bath in her hurry to get in. She ends up wedged at the end, their legs somehow wound through each other and Root’s bad arm carefully propped up on the edge of the tub while her good hand closes on Shaw’s throat again, prompting a jagged inhale. 

Root likes the way Shaw’s throat feels under her fingers, against her palm. There’s not much delicate about Shaw, but the blood thrumming under her thumb, the heat Root can feel beneath her skin, it feels almost fragile. Like Shaw is giving herself up in the most visceral way possible. It makes Root feel like her bones are burning under her skin.

Shaw’s pushed against the non-tap end, and the ceramic must be cold against her back, but she leans into it like a pro, staring Root down with huge eyes.

Root inhales at the sight of her, spread out and needy, the ends of her hair curling wetly against her shoulders. “Touch yourself for me, Sameen.” 

Shaw’s nipples are hard and shiny streaked with water, and she pushes into Root’s hand and closes her eyes in pleasure for a moment, sliding her hands down her body, so obedient it makes Root’s heart hop. 

Shaw toys with her nipples briefly, and Root’s hand closes hard enough to cut off her carotid. Shaw’s face goes slack, she opens her eyes and fixes on Root, and Root’s stomach flips pleasantly at the look of dazed awe on Shaw’s face. 

When she releases her grip, Shaw’s eyes roll back and she makes a little splash as she slides down into the bath, shoving both hands into the water and entering herself with a single finger without hesitation. Root feels her heartbeat speed up, and when Shaw uses her other hand to press against her clit Root can’t help the moan that spills out of her. 

Shaw fucks herself vigorously, splashing water with abandon and leaning back with wanton little noises bubbling against Root’s hand. Root alternates between gripping Shaw’s throat hard enough to cut off her blood supply, watching her face slacken, then releasing and gently rubbing her hand over Shaw’s chest and neck. 

When Shaw comes—it's not quick, but Root isn’t complaining with the show she’s putting on, she just wishes she had more operational hands—she curls forward and presses her face against Root’s neck, so Root slides her hand around to cradle the back of Shaw’s head while she breathes through it, little shudders rippling through her body. 

The water’s cool, and Shaw’s skin goosebumps under Root’s hand when she strokes down her back. 

After a minute Shaw sits back with a soft, open look on her face, and Root winks at her, which for some reason makes Shaw smirk lazily like she knows something Root doesn’t.

Shaw’s legs are a little shaky, so they’re both helping each other as they get out, and Shaw just wraps a towel around herself haphazardly before drying Root off bit by bit, with gentle hands and a methodical nature that makes Root sure she’s done this before, for someone else. 

The thought sets a little jealous spark in her chest, and she grabs Shaw by the hair and roughly drags her up for a kiss, dominating her with her mouth until Shaw sags against her, weak kneed and pliable. 

Satisfied that she’s the only person Shaw is thinking about, Root looks around the bathroom, then carefully places a towel on the toilet tank, uses Shaw’s shoulder to help her as she sits down on it, and props her heels on the closed toilet seat, folding her injured arm across her stomach with a little wince.

Shaw gets the idea without prompting, sits down facing her and buries her face in Root’s pussy without further instruction. 

Heat shooting through her, Root winds her good hand into Shaw’s hair, lets her head thump against the wall and curves her hips so Shaw can get closer. 

Her heel slips, and she wraps it around Shaw’s back instead, drawing her closer. Shaw’s skin is still damp, and Root’s leg slides down her flank a way that makes her pussy pulse, and Shaw moans, dragging her tongue up and rubbing over Root’s clit with a little noise of pleasure. 

“Do you want me to come in your mouth, Sameen?” Root breathes out, pulling Shaw’s hair lightly and enjoying the appreciative groan that vibrates through her groin as Shaw vehemently agrees.

“That’s gonna make you feel good, isn’t it?” Root reaches down and digs her nails into Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw says something, but it’s muffled in the wet noises of her tongue against Root’s pussy and Root grins. “Put your fingers in me, darlin’, make me come.” 

Shaw reaches up, Root’s wet and ready, has been since she pushed Shaw against the side of the bath. Shaw’s finger slides in easily and Root’s eyes flutter closed as Shaw drags the pad of her finger down against Root’s inner walls and then pushes back in, curling and rubbing against her Gspot while grazing Root’s clit with her teeth and rubbing her tongue between her fingers, teasing at Root’s entrance. 

Root yanks on her hair, pulls her up a little, and Shaw closes her lips around Root’s clit and licks it with long, slow motions matching the movement of her finger inside. 

The finger working in her tilts, twists around and then Shaw must push another one in, because Root is suddenly so full she’s only taking in little sips of air and using her handhold in Shaw’s hair to just _crush_ Shaw’s mouth against her, and then Shaw sucks hard and Root comes with a breathy cry, body sliding forward and only staying on the toilet tank because Shaw holds her there, still thrusting in her and Root comes again, right on the heels of her first orgasm while Shaw slows and gentles her fingers. 

Shaw sits back with a pleased look on her face, and Root watches as she pulls her fingers out, shuddering at the loss. Shaw licks her lips, and Root slumps down, carefully slithering into her lap and wrapping her good arm around Shaw, kissing her with bumbling, lazy lips. 

“Mmm, thank you, Doctor.” 

Shaw grins languidly and holds Root’s floppy body up—mostly using her stomach muscles—til she takes her own weight and leans back against the toilet tank. They get up together, and wrap themselves in towels which they abandon on Shaw’s floor as soon as they’re back in her room. 

* * *

Root crawls back into the bed, yawning, and Shaw checks her phone before pulling on a worn out Sex Pistols shirt. “We have a coupla hours if you need a nap to recover.” There’s a smirky note in her voice and Root grins at it, definitely persuadable.

“I was recently shot. I'm in the full time sex and nap recovery program. Feel free to wake me up in a fun way,” she wriggles down on her good side, cozy and warm, and she can hear Shaw rattling around the room quietly, doing whatever it is that Shaw wants to do. 

An hour later, she wakes up with a tongue thrusting into her, and as she grabs Shaw’s hair and grinds into her mouth she thinks that staying here is the best possible plan for her recovery. It’s definitely getting her cardio in, anyway. And orgasms are probably good for gunshots. Blood flow, or something. 

Team Machine draw 2-2 in their game, and Shaw bitches all the way back that if she’d been on the field instead of Donnelly they’d definitely have won. She doesn’t even seem to notice that Zoe and Joss keep looking at where she’s holding onto Root’s hand while she gesticulates with the other, and Root doesn’t do anything to draw attention to it. 

They start Angel when they get back, with Zoe and Joss squashing into Shaw’s bed with them, and if Shaw’s bothered by the fact that the small amount of space means that Root sits between her legs, she doesn’t show it. Root’s too busy feeling warm and happy to think about it too much.


	22. Her Bite Is Worse Than Her Bark

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Root remarks dryly as Shaw holds the heavy hospital door open for her and she walks into the shiny corridor.

“Better than watching that shit show Donnelly trying to set anyone up for a goal,” Shaw grumbles, her feet squeaking damply as they walk towards the desk. Root hides a smirk at her grumble—Shaw has been steadfastly refusing to go to Team Machine’s practises since that first game, complaining that it makes her too angry to function. She has, however, spent a fair bit of her unexpected free time lounging around in bed, with or without clothes, and on top of, or often under, Root. 

“True. Uh, Sam Groves,” She rattles her name and information off to the bored looking staff member who fills in the details and tells them to take a seat, whereupon Root continues talking as though she’d never paused, “try not to scare the Doctor too much though, I’d like them to have steady hands.” 

“How does it feel?” Shaw props one of her legs across the other and eyes Root skeptically. There’s no denying her shoulder has improved dramatically, the open wounds now reduced to two—albeit thick and red—lines, and her range of motion has definitely increased—Shaw still has the bruises from testing her grip.

“About the same as it felt when you asked me an hour ago,” there isn’t a trace of mockery in Root’s voice, but Shaw looks at her balefully anyway. 

“It’s a medical interest,” she huffs, and Root carefully hides her smirk.

“Samantha Groves. Room 3. Samantha Groves. Room 3.” The tinny robot voice announces and Shaw gets to her feet, offering her hand to Root like she still can’t do basic tasks. Root thinks it’s cute, and lets her. She wonders how long it will be before Shaw notices and gets all grouchy about it. 

Root knocks on the wooden door and pushes it open in one movement, giving Shaw a little smirk. They shouldn’t buzz for you if they’re not actually ready, she figures. 

The Doctor who greets them looks about twelve, his nervous face twitchy, and the sleeves of his white coat too short, showing off knobbly wrists.

“Aw hell no.” Shaw grabs the back of Root’s shirt.

“Shaw.” Root looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure he’s eminently qualified. Right, Doctor?” 

“Uh, most certainly. I got my medical degree from Nottingham,” he sounds a bit like he’s asking a question, and Root rolls her eyes. 

“Just ignore my guard dog here.” Shaw actually growls quietly, and Root can’t hide her grin. “Her bite is much worse than her bark, but she usually doesn’t attack without cause.”

Shaw makes a frustrated noise and flops down in the chair that is clearly supposed to be the Doctor’s, and the man just swallows nervously and points at the gurney. “Okay, well, stitches to come out, I saw in your file. Why don’t you hop up here and take your shirt off, and let me take a look.” 

Root obediently sits down on the gurney and unbuttons her shirt, having avoided pullovers at all costs since raising her arm still hurts. She’s not wearing a bra (it pushes in all the most painful places), and she catches Shaw’s eyes flicking over her before Shaw busies herself fiddling with the Doctor’s pen pot and he glances back at Shaw quickly before leaning over, flicking the light on and inspecting the injury site. 

“Looks to be healing very well. I’ll just...” he pulls over a short stool and wheely table of equipment before changing his gloves and starting to clip and pull the stitches out with professional hands. Root can’t help the little pained noises that emerge whenever the thread is particularly stubborn, but she keeps her eyes on Shaw the whole time to distract her. 

Shaw is busy furiously bending an enormous paperclip into what looks like nothing other than a cartoon penis, and avoiding Root’s eyes, although Root actually sees her jaw clench every time Root lets out a squeak. 

She has eleven stitches in her front, and fourteen below her scapula. The Doctor manages them all with little fuss, and lets them out with an exhortation to take it easy, work back up to normal activities gently, and take tylenol for the pain. 

He also thrusts a few pamphlets for the rehab centre at them, but Shaw brushes them out of her path, muttering about one on one care instead of one size fits all. Root gives the Doctor a grin as she slips after Shaw, “are you volunteering to be my physical therapist?” She inquires lightly as Shaw unlocks the car.

“No. Yes. Whatever. If you want, I guess.” Sometimes Shaw sounds exactly like a grumpy teenager and it makes Root’s heart do a little squeezy thing in her chest. Shaw automatically leans over to grab and clip Root’s seatbelt for her, and Root has to repress the urge to steal a kiss. Non-sexual physical affection makes Shaw uncomfortable if she’s allowed to notice it. Root’s fine with that, it makes the stealth game much more satisfying. 

“Well, now I can wash myself I guess... I’d better head home.” Root says hesitantly. She thinks that Shaw would let her stay until they ended up fighting if it was up to her, the other girl clearly unsure about what they’re doing and relying on Root to set the pace of things. Root thinks, all in all, that having her stitches out is a good excuse to put their growing relationship on a more normal footing. Moving in together having known each other for a couple of weeks even if that time involved a violent crime doesn’t really seem like the best idea, and Root really wants to do this right. She watches Shaw out of the corner of her eye as the brunette steers the car competently around rush hour traffic. 

“You want me to take you to your place now?” The blank intonation in Shaw’s voice is the deliberate one, the one Root has come to learn that Shaw defaults to whenever she’s not quite sure how she’s supposed to feel in order to be ‘normal’. 

“I really do have to get some work done, unfortunately. But I’ll be on campus after my stupid lab test tomorrow, I finish at 4. We could do some... rehab...” Root makes sure to load the innuendo on with spades, Shaw always feels safer in conversation when sex is involved.

Shaw relaxes a little, although she’s still very tense, her knuckles are tight around the steering wheel in her hands. “They won’t give you an extension for being shot?”

“Unfortunately my project is working for an actual company, and if I don’t get my stuff done they’ll have to hand it over to someone else. I’ll end up with an incomplete on my thesis.” Root shrugs her good shoulder. “So I gotta get stuff done, and I need my hardware.” 

“Okay.” Shaw takes the exit that will take them downtown, sliding the car through the busy streets with ease. It’s silent for a while, and Root watches Shaw, enjoying the view until Shaw clears her throat, “It wasn’t horrible, I guess.”

“What?” Root wonders if she missed part of the sentence due to heavy mooning.

“You staying. It wasn’t horrible. So I mean.. if you’re on campus two days in a row and you’re tired or whatever, it wouldn’t be horrible if you stayed at the Casa.” Shaw very deliberately avoids Root’s gaze, and Root thinks she can see a faint blush tinging her ears. 

Firmly squashing down her inner squee, Root nods and looks out the window. “Cool.” The smug joy singing in her veins makes her feel a little giddy, but she tries hard to keep it off her face.

Shaw pulls into her apartment complex and Root opens her door a crack, then twists in her seat to look back at Shaw. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Shaw never actually answered, but now she turns, and nods a little. “Yeah, Root, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Root grins, relaxing, and opens the door properly to slide out. Just before the door closes, she leans down, “I bet spanking you would be really good for building my arm muscles back up,” and shuts the door in Shaw’s suddenly dazed face. 

Root smirks all the way up to her door and then her phone beeps. 

SHAW @ ROOT // I always find long bouts of fingerblasting great for the forearms. you can legit see the difference in mine after a good session //

ROOT @ SHAW // Sounds good. You take sports science classes, come up with a schedule //

SHAW @ ROOT // schedules are for dorks. you fuck my brains out, we add a little more arm into it every day, stop when it hurts. how is that difficult? //

ROOT @ SHAW // Valid. We’ll probably have to try dozens of different exercises to find the ones that work best //

SHAW @ ROOT // go finish your stupid project then. we have shit to do. //

Root keeps grinning happily until she realises she can’t open the coffee maker and then she kicks her stool in irritation as she settles down at her computer, preparing to make up for lost time. She doesn't change out of the clothes she's borrowed from Shaw until it's time to get ready for bed.

  
*******

It’s a good job I’m a genius, Root thinks to herself as she trudges down the path to the electronics building, with only a few minutes to spare before she has to log on to her timed exam. To say the morning went badly would be an understatement.

First, she’d overslept, forgetting to set an alarm because apparently ‘Shaw will do it’ is now how alarm setting goes in her head. Then showering had taken way longer than she’d expected without a convenient backwasher, and then she still hadn’t been able to exert enough torque on the espresso stovetop maker to unscrew it and was thus running late, decaffienated and quite grumpy. 

Her phone beeps as she buzzes through into the building. 

SHAW @ ROOT // hey. ru coming over at 4? //

ROOT @ SHAW // Shitty morning. Text you later //

SHAW @ ROOT // whats wrong? //

ROOT @ SHAW // Late and no coffee and can’t leave lab// 

Root rushes into the large, overly airconditioned room and spots Daizo, heading to the terminal he always saves for her. When she logs in she’s relieved to see the timed test won’t start for another two minutes. 

SHAW @ DAIZO // where is Root’s lab thing?//

DAIZO @ SHAW // who is this? //

SHAW @ DAIZO // it’s shaw, we met at the hospital, got your number off harold. Where is Root’s lab? //

DAIZO @ SHAW // Lab 13B, down corridor B in Electronics//

Fourteen minutes into Root’s coding test she’s surprised to suddenly smell something delicious. She looks up, and Shaw shuffles awkwardly from foot to foot, then slides the enormous thermos of what is clearly coffee down next to Root’s mouse pad. 

Root just blinks at her in shock, and a little bit of soppy awe. Shaw shrugs, and whispers. “good luck,” ignoring the other students who are murmuring, clearly wondering who has invaded their exam, and then Shaw is gone as quickly as she arrived, leaving Root with her mouth open and Daizo looking at her with a highly amused expression. 

ROOT @ SHAW // How did you get in here? And also thank you you are amazing //

SHAW @ ROOT // i have my ways. finish your stupid test, nerd. see you later. you have a rehab appointment // 

ROOT @ SHAW // drs orders //


	23. She's NOT Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, team. Thank you so much to those of you who have let me know they've been reading along, you have no idea how motivating that is. This fic would be a 1/3 of the length and I would have been way less happy writing it without you. You're all amazing. 
> 
> Everyone else, I'd love if you'd take the time to let me know what you think now we're at the end of the road. If you don't have anything to say, that's cool, go and comment on someone else's fic that you do have something to say about :) Feed the authors!

**Six Weeks Later**

Root almost falls over as she jumps up and down in excitement watching Shaw sprint down the wing, dancing past one player, then another, looking up for just a split second and finding Harper in the box. She sends a beautiful pass looping over one defender and slotting between two more, and the top of Harper’s boot connects with the ball in mid air, driving it past the keeper into the top corner of the net. Root never thought she’d be into soccer, but between having been forced to watch several televised games as well as becoming thoroughly enamoured with Team Machine, she’s really starting to enjoy the sport. Well, in all fairness she'd happily watch Shaw cleaning the house, so maybe she's a little biased.

Harper yells in triumph as John slaps her on the back so hard she staggers forward, and Team Machine jog back to their half, high-fiving each other on the way. 

The goal brings them up to a lead of 5-1. The other team is playing well, but Team Machine is on fire. It’s Shaw’s first game since before her surgery, finally pronounced fit, and she's playing an incredible game. Root’s really happy for her, especially because the season is apparently only two more weeks.

Shaw flashes Root a brilliant grin as she gets in position and the other team kick off. She looks great today, Root thinks, her legs are just made for soccer shorts, all muscular and lithe as she sprints and turns. Her tight jersey makes her look somehow incredibly tough but outlines her graceful body in a way that makes Root’s mouth a little dry and the dots of mud splashed up and down Shaw’s uniform just make her even cuter. 

The kick off brings the opposition down into Machine’s half, and Shaw sprints after a player who’s clearly heading wide. The ball comes across, and they both jump up, he’s a good six inches taller than her and he makes contact with his forehead, driving the ball out of bounds. His flailing elbow connects with Shaw on the way back down, and she crumples like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the ground on her knees. 

Root doesn’t even hear the whistle, or the shouting. 

Her chest is tight and her ears are full only of the sound of rushing blood. She slips and slides on the damp astro as she sprints flat out for Shaw’s limp body, skinning her knees through her leggings and not even noticing as she drops down at Shaw’s side, hands fluttering over her in panic. 

“Shaw, SHAW, oh God, Shaw,” her voice is thick and she can’t breathe properly, she’s not even seeing Shaw on the green, fake grass. All she can see is Shaw laid out on the living room floor, blood streaming down her face, broken and unmoving. 

“M okay. Root, _Root_ ,” Shaw coughs and struggles upright under Root’s frantic hands, grabs them with one of hers, ducks her chin so she can look at her in the eyes. “Root. I’m fine. Winded. Not hurt.” She’s not even pale, Root realises, she’s fine. She looks fine.

Root just collapses into her, all awkward limbs basically trying to climb onto Shaw’s lap but she’s too big, but Shaw just wraps her arms around her and holds her, which works for Root. She presses her face up against Shaw’s throat, feeling her pulse against her lips, every beat sending something calming through her and quashing the acidic panic burning up her stomach. She knows she’s probably making Shaw uncomfortable, but she can’t, physically can’t bring herself to let go just yet, not while her mind is still full of flashes of Shaw's damaged face and dizzy eyes. 

Around them, Shaw’s team and the opposition shift, Root looks up in time to see John push one guy in the chest in reply to something, and the dude steps forward, puffing his chest up. “Get that bitch’s crazy girlfriend off the fucking pitch, man.” Realising she’s making a huge scene, Root manages to let go, sitting back, running her eyes over Shaw to make sure she really is okay.

Shaw squeezes Root’s hands, stands and turns around, facing the angry guy. “What the fuck did you just say?” Her tone is devoid of emotion. Zoe and Joss slide across and help Root up, while John steps up next to Shaw as though he’s going to block in front of her. Shaw gives him a flat-eyed look and he stills. Tension thrums through the air.

The pugnacious guy jerks his chin at Root. “I said, get your crazy ass girlfriend off the pitch, we got a game to play.” 

He doesn’t even see the fist that breaks his nose. “She is _not_ crazy!” Shaw smashes him to the ground, blood spraying, and kneels on his chest, holding him down with her knees and a hand around his neck. The teams disintegrate into shoving and yelling, and Zoe deftly steers Root out of the mess while John dives in, taking two players on at once when it looks like they’re going to attack Shaw’s exposed back. 

It takes a few minutes to sort out, the ref and a few uninvolved players pulling the fight apart. Shaw gets red-carded, and sent off, which Root supposes is fair enough, she did just pummel a guy, and honestly she just wants Shaw in her hands to make sure she is actually, really okay. Adrenaline is still pounding through her, with nowhere to go except making her hands shake and tremble. 

But Shaw pushes past her, face drawn with anger, and heads for the changing rooms without a word. 

Root dithers, torn between following her and staying put, but Harold tugs on her arm gently and leads her back to the sidelines. “Give her a minute.” 

So Root waits unhappily with Harold while the rest of the team finishes the game, her heart feeling uncomfortable and heavy in her chest. She’s worried Shaw’s just going to leave, embarrassed because of Root. She can hardly pay attention to the game, eyes flicking to the path every few seconds.

The opposition get two goals back but Team Machine still win thanks to their early lead, and then they’re all heading over the sidelines, pretty worked up. 

“Well if Shaw hadn’t hit him, I might’ve,” Root hears Joss snap as they come over. 

John is sporting the beginnings of a fine black eye, and Harold makes a little sound of distress, reaching up to pull his boyfriend’s chin down as John replies, regardless of his face inspection. “I’m not saying she shouldn’t have hit him, I’m saying did you hear what he said?”

Root shifts awkwardly, well aware that her small nervous breakdown prompted the whole situation, but John just continues, “he said ‘your crazy girlfriend’, and Shaw said ‘she’s not crazy!’ but at no point did Shaw say Root wasn’t her girlfriend!” he finishes triumphantly, and then freezes, looking at a point behind Root. “Hi, Shaw.” The amount of awkwardness he manages to force into those two words make Root want to laugh, but her body is still all out of kilter from seeing Shaw hit the ground, and then her storming off. 

She’s not sure what she’s going to see when she turns around, but it isn’t Shaw with a teeny, tiny, uncomfortable smile lurking around the corners of her mouth. “Reese. Getting slow.” She brushes her thumb meaningfully across her cheekbone, clearly mocking his bruise.

Harold, hilariously, angles himself in front of John like he’s going to protect him from Shaw’s wrath, but Shaw just rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Root.” 

She picks up Root’s hand to drag her away, not a cozy, romantic handholding, but a practical one. As they start down the path they hear John hiss, “See, _girlfriend_.” But when Root slants her eyes down at Shaw, the smaller woman just looks content. It’s the same expression she has when Bear has his head on her feet, or she’s just finished a good steak. 

Tentatively, Root rearranges her hand so instead of Shaw gripping her wrist, they’re palm to palm, and when she doesn’t let go or storm off, Root finally lets a little smile spread over her face.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have left lots of doors cracked open at this point, but this is the natural place to end the story as I am planning out a sequel as we speak. What happened to Martine? Did they find Claire's body? Will Root ever tie Shaw to her kitchen table (yes, I just wrote that scene) and more will be answered in the next instalment, tentatively titled 'Love the Game' because I think I'm hilarious. There's a series page now, so if you enjoyed this, subscribe yourself and you won't miss anything. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Ps, if there's anything particular you'd like to see in the sequel lmk

**Author's Note:**

> At some point I'm sure you will find yourself questioning why this AU is called the Tswift verse, and the answer to that would be because Steph kept singing 'YOU KNOW YOU LOVE THE PLAYER AND YOU HATE THE GAAAAAAAAME' at me forty times a day until it p much caught on on tumblr. So basically I made stupid titles and now that's the name. 
> 
> Hate the Player | Love the Game | Hate the Game | Love the Player
> 
> now you see. And probably hate me as much as I hate myself :D


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